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A ride with the wild life of the Marsh:Wednesday, 10.00a.m.Peter and John rendez-vous at St Rumwold's Church.Dark clouds overhead, but it's stopped raining.Rosemary is unwell, Judith is working, and Norman is caring for Christine who is recovering from back surgery.
We are soon underway and over the Royal Military Canal towards Newchurch. Almost immediately a car approaches from behind.It's Norman.He had hoped to 'wave us off' but we had already flown the coop.A few yards ahead we come upon a fellow cyclist mending a puncture; apparently caused by impact with a rain filled pothole. Norman parks. We dismount. Our tube mending friend is an amiable gentleman with a shiny red racing bicycle, in excellent condition considering it is approaching its 50th birthday.
Norman proposes to join us for a drink at lunchtime, accompanied by Christine.As we are about to set off,John Rogers from Parsonage Farm jogs by with a friendly wave.
Eventually we resume our ride.Round the corner, another encounter.This time a man with a stylish hat and two well groomed dogs.
Darkness descends on the face of the earth, and heaven turns on the hose. Mercifully it's brief and the wind soon dries my soaked trousers. Peter has opted for shorts. A decision he later regrets.
We continue along winding lanes ;river banks decked with red, yellow and bluewildflowers;high hedges with promises of abundant crops of blackberries, damsons, and sloes later in the year;occasional crows and magpies dart in and out of the trees as we go by.
As we leave Ivychurch and cross the busy A259,Peter advises that we may soon be going 'off road'.Sure enough, the lane gives way to a track on the edge of a cornfield. Peter spots two hares. Hoping to get a photo for the blog, we approach silently. John uses an open barn as a hide, but its clear that the pair are wise to our subterfuge and prefer to remain deep in the long grass.
We now enter the Romney Marsh equivalent of the Amazon Rainforest. It's called 'Eighteen Acre Lane'. To begin with, there is some light and the going is fairly easy underfoot.Soon however the vegetation closes in and our path is just wide enough to wheel the bikes through. We are on a narrow ridge, with waterways two or three feet below on each side.
Whatever life there may be around us maintains a discreet silence.We feel that, apart from footpath fanatics determined to exercise their rights,humans are infrequent visitors to this strange, almost claustrophobic tangle of brambles, ferns, nettles and twisted trees.
Enormous holes appear in the ground. Badgers? Another hole; this time bees buzz around the entrance. We do not linger. Peter's legs are already easy prey for the waist high nettles, let alone a swarm of angry bees. John makes frequent stops to remove thorny twigs which have managed to entangle themselves in his front and rear wheels, and makes a mental note to bring secateurs on the next ride.
Progress is inevitably slow, but eventually we emerge into the light, and along a rough track which borders a railway line (indicated by a charming sign with a picture of a little steam engine). According to the map, we are now in 'Narrow Bush Lane'; bearing in mind the lane of narrow bushes through which we have just struggled, the cartographer must surely have had a sense of humour!
Across the railway, along another lane, and here's the Royal Oak. A pint of Adnams slips down a treat. Norman and Christine arrive. It's good to see Christine looking and moving so well.
The Royal Oak does not disappoint;shepherd's pie, asparagus, and devilled kidneys satisfy the appetites of hungry riders.
The route home takes us past the Red Lion at Snargate, through Warehorne, (we startle a pheasant lazing beside an innings,and manage to avoid a barn owl chick on the roadside) up Maltmans Lane through Orlestone Forest. At one point the air is filled with heady fragrance; have we stumbled on a field of jasmine flowers?Or could it be the acres of blossoming broad beans we are passing? John wonders whether this could be the new perfume marketing opportunity of a lifetime. The name might be a challenge though.
We give a nostalgic glance at the former Stutchbury Fuels HQ, and the small bungalow under whose roof John had been sheltered by Peter and Rosemary some 40 years ago after he had been evicted by the Kingsnorth Communist Youth Hostel, when his Conservative politics were revealed.
Approaching the Good Intent we exchange greetings with an elegant lady on a handsome horse.
Thanks to Peter's usual shrewd planning, this ride has been notable for its tranquillity, its abundance of wildlife and (relative) absence of traffic.
Oh, and if ever you need to lie low for a few months, hare on down to Eighteen Acre Lane!
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