Notes


You know how it is. Little time. Less energy. Lots of desire. Much frustration. Last Sunday. I needed that ride. That ride. Lost in effort and thought. Rapt in observation.

At Forest Farm a crow blasted through the hedgerow. I jumped.

On the Taff trail, the sky was reflected in cold February waters.

Through Taffs Well, closing in on a group ahead. They turned left at Ponty. I went on.

Quakers yard, toward the hills.

Great little climb that. Keeps you working. 

The descent from Treharris. Helter skelter, no mat required.

Up to Sengenydd moor. I love this moor. I love this moor. I love this moor. I love….

Bright blue sky. lazy clouds in gusty winds. A turbine at work. How fresh the air is.

 

It looks like the Dales. A little bit of Yorkshire. Here. In Wales.

Climb the other side. Nantgarw gives access to the Southern moor and hovering hawks.

PAY ATTENTION.  A hidden branch smacks my face and wakes me up. Boy that stings.

Gwaleod Y Garth. I’ve been on my moor, I can now see my hill. Soon I’ll see my home. Returning is a reward in itself. 

I know you know how it is.

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