22 mile picnic

Here in the UK we have been enjoying an unusually hot spring, a blessing after the misery of the long winter. So it is picnic time again and we happily wend our way through flower lined lanes and villages hoping to wear off more calories than we will put on later.


Past blossoming orchards and sleepy cows...


...down (and inevitably, up) - winding lanes...


...past grandious Cotswold 'piles'...


...and parched fields, waiting for rain.


We too are rather parched and it is fortunate that our destination is here;


Or, to be precise, here;


Oh, the injustice that our favourite pub is nearly ten miles from home! By now I am an alarming shade of red and it is with great relief that I plonk myself down with a much needed glass of Addlestone's cider -


- and a chance to relax for an hour or so and watch the world go by.


At last we haul ourselves up and begin the journey home and the all-important mission of finding a suitable picnic spot. Returning through Broadwell village, with it's pretty cottages -

- and back on the road. It is now mid-afternoon and hot as June.

Somewhere along here is...

...the right spot for a picnic, a modest affair.

Marjorie carries most of the supplies and needs a rest too.

Returning home through the abandoned farm in the woods, surprising the plump Buff Orpington rooster who had strayed from his harem -

- and scuttled off, legs wattling furiously, to protect them.

I am not used to cycling this far and there were now points when pushing was necessary. Byeee Andy!

There he goes, off down the home track.

Disappearing towards the village. Put the kettle on dear.

There is nothing like coming home somewhat exhausted, to find that someone has had a lovely, lazy afternoon in the sun. And then discovering that you have cycled 22 miles. Something I can barely believe myself.