Pylons. Yes. Pylons.

Pylon geometry low res (1 of 1)

So what do you do when you’re not able to cycle? Walk. Wander. Notice things. Like Pylons.

Yes.

Pylons.

After crashing nearly 3 weeks ago, I’ve not been able to ride due to the flaky nature of the healing wound. Exercise, but not exercise, that’s the medical advice. Normally you can’t suggest things like that to me and expect the strategy to be successful. It simply won’t. In the statement:

“Try to mobilise your knee and get some gentle exercise. Don’t push it” 

I’ve only heard:

Blah, blah, MOBILISE YOUR KNEE blah GET SOME blah EXERCISE

Usually I’m my own worse enemy. This time however, I’ve listened. No sneaky pushing it. No taking it to ‘8’ when only a ‘3’ will do. I’ve elevated, shuffled and walked. Taken time. Put down the bike and picked up the camera. It’s on these enforced rambles, that you get a bit of time to think.

Pylon geometry 2 low res (1 of 1)

Wandering around the flood plains of the River Taff on Saturday morning and Monday evening, I did some urban exploration. I found an outfall pipe that I’d love to take a closer look at, but probably never will. I found a section of missing railway bridge that offers a wonderful hidey-hole for local flora and fauna. And I stood directly underneath pylons, listening to the soft buzzing that power homes and industry, admiring the angles and geometry that support our energy dependent lives.

With a bit of luck I’ll be back in action shortly – this morning, riding the Birdy, I mobilised my knee and get some gentle exercise, not pushing it (to the letter, Dr!) – but in the meantime, I’m poking my camera into corners, gently negotiating stiles and generally opening my eyes. One side benefit, I guess, of being sidelined.

Images above; Pylons at Radyr and Landaff North respectively.