Not just a Tree

The first family car was a Mini 850, coloured somewhere between orange and yellow, a wholly 1970's style. Every time we passed a mini travelling in the opposite direction, there was a mutual wave, a honk or a flash of the lights. It's the same in cycling. A wave is obligatory, unless you're in the middle of a savage effort, when a tilt of the head or a nod is acceptable. Even my beloved finer-half will shoot daggers at the MAMIL (middle-aged man in Lycra) who fails to obey this convention. Their failure suggests that they do not have an affinity or respect the etiquette of being a cyclist.


I stopped to take a picture of my favourite windswept tree. It always looks the same, yet different. The man I passed earlier had now caught up and we exchanged a few words at the stile by the river. He was a quiet sort, someone who probably liked to be away from the world. His hair was curly, billowing out of a buff headband. Blowing in the wind in a way that I could only be jealous of.

He said he was simply going where the path took him. I liked that....my sort of person. Still, winter in the Peak isn't the time to explore for me and I knew exactly where I was going. The man was soon way ahead, running freely a la Scott Durek, the ultra-runner. I then met a women running in the opposite direction and she was beaming, I imagine simply with the joy of being in the hills. She was lithe, the sort that does adventure races like Rosemary. "It's a bit windy and cold on the tops" she warned. I didn't doubt that for a second.

5 minutes further up the valley, a hawk hovered high over the heather. I stopped to watch. He hung there, despite the stiff breeze. Waiting. Then his wings closed and he plummeted fast into the moorland by the burn. He soon appeared again, flew above my head and plonked himself on a rock. He started to rip apart and chew the beastie that had previously been dangling from his beak. I had a wee tear in my eye. Being there beats watching a David Attenborough programme. Moments like this re-enforce my beliefs that as highly intelligent creatures we should be custodians for the earth, not numbers to support a growth economy regardless of the damage done to the natural world.

Reaching Doctors Gate signalled the point where there would be minimal shelter for ah hour or so. Whilst not too cold, the wind was unbelievably strong on the high moorland plain. I was moving straight into the tooth of it. Even "the bouncy path" wasn't as much fun as it normally is. I crossed the road at the top of Snake Pass, popped my headphones in and used Laurent Garnier to keep me going. My feet were cold and wet, but I was determined to stay happy. Techno music has proven euphoric effects, independent of pharmacology, and I was soon moving to the groove, oblivious of the conditions.

Just as I was thinking how different it is to run alone than with people, I was with people. 3 chaps with all the gear and some idea trotted past, the final one cutting me up slightly. "Road hog" I screamed with a big smile on my face. The headphones came off and I tucked in behind to gain a little shelter from the wind. They were moving at good pace and the front runner was soon 50m ahead. The chap wearing the OMM trousers stopped for a pee....."good luck" I thought imagining more of a golden sprinkler than a golden shower. Pissing in a gale is one of the major challenges of life.

We must have looked like camels in a desert sand storm, as we traversed the moorland path. Heads down, no talk, one foot in front of another. It was hard going but there seemed to be a common telepathy going on. It takes a certain sort to love such conditions, like mini drivers and cyclists, people who run in the hills seem to have a common, yet indefinable bond. We look at each other and "understand".

Everyone stopped at the cairn looking over to Kinder Scout. We chatted for a bit and I took a photo for them. It was now very cold and not a place to be hanging about. I popped my headphones in again and descended towards Glossop on my own. There was one close shave where I lost my foot in a bog whilst travelling fast. I pitched forward but stayed upright, conscious that I didn't want to fall with my camera in my rucksack.

Oh....no. I was all of a sudden freezing but didn't feel it coming on. However, now out of the wind, I decided not to put another layer on. Although externally I started to warm up a little, my core temperature had dropped. Amateur! Pleased to reach the road, tiredness kicked in and my legs were now jelly like. I had eaten 2 bars and drank a full 2 litres so guessed that the fatigue was more to do with being poorly earlier in the week. Needless to say, I was delighted to reach the delicatessen, a cave full of Saturday treats!