David in Pen and Pics

But I’ve called him Dennis. Dennis after Dennis Glover

“And quardle oodles ardle   The Magpies said”.

We met, well, I saw him, riding my bike ride on our cycle trail. Sorry, I was riding the bike, Dennis was aloft.

At first he would swoop down from high up in the tree, quarkling and oodling just above my crash helmet – indeed at times attacking, pecking my helmet. It sounded like a gunshot.

These days I approach slowly, park the bike and walk to his tree. There he is, large, black and white, curious, looking down at me.

I am becoming familiar, no longer a threat. But not yet a friend.

I googled the ‘oodle ardle’ companion of my trail.

“Approach slowly, talk to them, let them get used to you.”

My aunt had a pet magpie. Newcomers were advised to walk slowly to her door. Being aloof, disregarding this ‘watchbird’ could mean a bleeding ankle from a vicious peck.

Summer on the way, daily bike rides, and regular stops to talk to my new mate. But not in the presence of other cyclists who would have to make a detour from this daffy geriatric chatting to nobody they could see.

Dennis knows me, and as I stop below his tree he swoops gracefully down, not far from me and into the paddock. Feeding time, bugs and stuff in the long unchewed grass. Soon the dairy herd will be back. Dairy cows don’t get attacked. They don’t wear crash helmets either.

Time to move

Attraction two: being spring there are baby rabbits. They’re unseen in the long grass, they fling themselves out onto the track, stop stare at me, dart off into the undergrowth. I have to slow down to avoid them.

A mother duck, about ten tiny heads of ducklings following her. A reassuring “Quack!” And they patter along after her. Mother duck doesn’t feed them, ‘you’re on your own Ducky.’

Last stop

A fully grown rabbit, unseen at first because they freeze, moves slowly to a well used burrow. It pauses, I am unable to make rabbit noises, it slips down into its burrow.

Oatmeal, coconut shreds, cinnamon flour and more – initial preparations for apple crumble on the way ~ as is a bike ride.

New morning, new buds, enthusiasm and soon the crisp air will be warmer, and time to go cycling.

A cycle trail free of traffic. There are greetings from fellow cyclists (mainly oldies like me) and that patient, almost kindly stare of cows – farm stock long used to us, as they graze along the fence line.

New cyclists are startled with the young calves who, curious, bolt up to the fence-line to figure us out.

Back to the apple crumble. Practice, cunning, and the daring to try something new. Tempered by a ‘healthy touch of anxiety

A good balance.

Crumble done, sampled, approved.

Now to balance on the bike, the whish of tyres on gravel, spring growth

Ain’t life grand

NoMyCat

Chatty. He comes up in the morning to enjoy the sun on our front porch.

Familiar. Too soon he jumps onto my knee for affection. I am won over by his diesel like purr and snuggles.

The downside

Our bird feeder is deserted. Instinct. Like that fear I have when there’s no wing mirror on my bike – “What is behind me?”

Birdfeeder.

It’s new. Just rebuilt. Little hooks for fruit, and now the wax eyes visit us.

Always the sparrows, who feed on wild birdseed, bossy blackbirds – they like cat biscuits. Which spill over into the garden, where NotMyCat has another reason to visit.

Sunny mornings, busy, and now retired I have time to see our ‘tame’ wildlife close up.

Gotta go

Clean up the kitchen bench.

Market Day.
I know most people,
A brief welcome chat.

Sometimes news, often a wry mutter about the weather.
Weather . . .

Huh!
Too windy for a bike ride ~ well,  when riding out of town, with the wind behind,  “Whoomph!”

Coming home, grunt, push
And muttering, (Why do I do this?)

Post your answers to:
Grumpy Cyclist,

Thames
You could be in to win that whining stray cat with the Fridge Door eyes.

In the meantime ~
Coffee !

Redwood trunks, straight , rising up and beyond sight.
Silence
My steps are barely heard on the forest floor.
No birdsound !

And a rare delight – I don’t know where I am!

Other people, ‘older’ like me, are always ready for a chat. Many are dog walkers. And there are dogs of many breeds and sizes. At first the doggos are cautious, then, tail wagging, happy to be spoken too – patted.

Frequent signs,
‘All dogs must be on a lead.’

Forest walkers are friendly and very happy to chat.
They give advice on ‘where the steep bits are’ .
And how I can find my way back to the car. This is helpful as I have quite lost my sense of knowing where I am. For me this is rare. Unsettling. I am surrounded by foliage, much of it see through foliage but to more foliage. I am only sure of the car being ‘down there’ somewhere.
A friendly Scotsman (with a Kiwi burr) points to a track which arrives at ‘the car park’.
It is one of many car parks, but now, with my sense of direction returning, I know which car park and with the press of the contactless key, lights of The Car are winking.

4,000 steps. Old fashioned walking, the GPS map on my smart phone now making sense.
I am ready for a break. The chance to sit down. Something – anything – to eat and drink.

And back at the motel, waiting, is Boris. The Motel Moggy, loyal friend, manipulator – always hopeful for a smuggled bite of cooked chicken.

Yes, when I was six years old I learned to ride a two wheel bike.

It was borrowed – balance, bravery and bruises.

Now I am eighty six. I ride an E Bike.

I bought it – for balance,

There’s a wee bit of fear but so far no bruises.

“Well you’re doing alright!”

Insulting?

Admiring?

Never got comments like that when I was six.

My Pop, “Slow down you little bugger!”

Pop was a great old guy

Remembered stuff he did when he was a ‘ little bugger.”

In fact Pop was not a part of the family tree. Originally he was a boarder in my Nana’s boarding house.

They got on well. Very well.

I’m not aware of my Pop riding a bike.

Riding the bike is an escape, adventure.

A passing cyclist ~ a cheery greeting.

Blue sky

Horizon to horizon clouds

Contented munching of cows

No traffic bustle, nor that fear of being passed to closely.

The day has started, I’ve that that zip, that flair of enthusiasm.

But, oh! The noise!

Excellent coffee grinder, excellent hearing aids.

Through the kitchen window I see sparrows feeding. Wild bird seed (and yesterday’s left over scones)

On the days when I’m late I see them staring up at our kitchen window.

Guilt.

How can these little creatures, surviving long before I turned up, and will be around after I’ve flit, make me feel so guilty?

Coffee time

That first coffee of the day.

It folds in half

I can tuck it in the back of my car

And follow my grandkids when the they go mountain biking.

Follow them for a while. Dangerous stuff mountain biking. For a grandpa.

Grandpas topple over easily enough without the help of tree roots, ruts in the path and the slippery bits.

Today, this morning, I set out early, to beat the crowds, the cyclists, the serious walkers ~ the dog walkers

7.30am. And I met the crowds, the cyclists, the serious walkers ~ the dog walkers. -all getting out early.

Summer time, a lively breeze, it was warm.

Very soon I’m out in the farm country. The cow cockies are out, they’ve been up for some time – tractors, mending fences, stroking a chin and staring at a drain that don’t drain. Always time for friendly wave.

There’s still plenty of life in the bike battery, but I’m running out of steam.

A two point turn. Wind is now in my favour

Homewards

Soon coffee

And one last look at the farm country