I want to be by the coast.
For I am one mile from the sea. But nowhere near the coast.
In this powerful wind.
I can see tumbleweed crisp packets. Shopping bags billowing like parachutes. Conifers straining at the leash.
But I want to see whitecaps frothing. Cotton wool racing across Somerset. The crumbling Jurassic of the heritage coast.
All in this wind. A feel alive wind. A feel the earth’s forces wind. A shrill, cut-you-to-the-quick wind.
A wind that turns an outward bound plodder into a returning superstar.
Nothing, nothing, nothing makes a rider feel more alive and turns a road into passage and a passage to a journey.
On this road. I want to be by the coast.
As far as I’m concerned, ‘The coast’ starts about 6 miles from my office and extends, almost unbroken by the ravages of industry, all the way around Wales. One day I’ll ride it all. Images taken in the Vale of Glamorgan.