Don’t trust OS Maps!

A dotted double line is a forrestry road
Right!?
We all know that!
But the cartographer!
One must approach inebriation with great solemnity
To denote the hand’s width hell of rock and mud a forrestry road
Not to mention the 14% incline.
Thick grass wrapped around my front tire,
While my back tire still tried to move.
The rest was physics,
as I tumble into the bog
under the worried watch of dragonflies
Whose compound eyes see every detail of my malaise
You must have heard my yelp
Or the dragon flies got you
As you skittered down the hill
To come for my rescue
I beg of you don’t bother with the pep talk
It won’t cut through the brainfog
While I’m dreaming of an ice bath
And the sun is hammering my bruised bod
And you shout at me about indominable spirit
And my legs are shaking with exhaustion
And the dragonflies hover having so many questions
And there is no turning around now
And we are stuck on a mountain pass now
And I curse the map maker for a dotted double line
As I humph my my bike up the hill
And I bend over double catching breath
And finally we reach the crest
And it’s all downhill from there

1944 meter ascend
52 kilometer
It was supposed to be a gentle Sunday spin

Mountainbiking in Scotland

Instead of ALT text

There are no words
Doing justice to mountains wearing an ice crystal tiara, once the sun hits after a snow shower.
The layered papercut of hills stretches seemingly endless into the horizon
Spring growth is slowly changing the landscape
Still predominantly browns–you would think it’s boring
But the dramatic light as clouds chase the sun

Or is sun chasing the clouds?

Takes your breath anyway.
Hidden emerald jewels made of small ponds
Are dotted across the broken skin of the ancient hills.
Thousands of birds, a deer looks at us curiously, red squirrels dash across paths,
And I almost have an air traffic accident with a robin–we are both racing downhill.
It smells of summer in waiting.
Of bark and rain.
As soon as the sun breaks through the clouds my cold fingers warm up.
Rough ground crunches underneath my tires.
The tick green of pines darkens the path.
Only sunrays manage to break through,
Dousing us in green light.
The scent becomes heavy with acidic soil.
And still there are no words to describe the scenery adequately