Vignettes
Tales from the Tarmac is a journal dedicated to stories from the road as seen from the perspective of a cyclist. From the memories created, to the hustle and bustle of the ride. This is why we ride, we hit the road in search of suffering, solace and salvation. This first post will be a little adventure into the whimsical need for geographic engagement. A flutter of vignettes connected to the landscape and all important insights, like the air pressure at five in the morning.
Enjoy, The Highwayman
Dieppe; 0300 hours
I'm just off of the ferry from Newhaven. There is no rush and I wait for first light before rolling out. Tucking myself up against the promenade wall to hide from the brisk coastal breeze, I sit with my legs spread out on the sand. In the darkness you hear the sea gently reaching toward the land. The town weirdly smells of oats. As dawn breaks and the men of the town turn up to fish off of the pier I head out inland on an adventure. The scent of oats lingers on the nose for most of the day...
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Somewhere in the middle of Spain
It's been a long day in the saddle and you've been saving this can of peaches for a while. You're looking for that perfect spot to eat them. On most occasions this doesn't happen, but you're holding out this time. The olive grove you've been riding through albeit beautiful has turned into a run of the mill landscape by now. All of a sudden there is a break in the trees. A small gulch, the blanched chalky sub-layer glowing white, contrasting with the by now olive drab blur. You rest your bike up and peel open that can. First a slug of the sweet juice; refreshing and energizing. Grabbing a fork ready to dig in you see movement in your peripheral. A kingfisher sits on the precipice looking down intensely for its lunch Just you and the bird. A royal mix of blue and orange, with a thick spear-like beak. Alert, its eyes masked by white flurries. Transfixed, you put the can of peaches down and just gaze at the vignette in front of you.
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The Danish Pastry many days into a Denmark-Sweden ride
It has been three days now since getting off the ferry in Esbjerg. The ride that was meant to be done with a buddy had turned into a solo adventure. The km's were clocking up but the mood remained funky. Something was lacking; some laughs perhaps, some shared experiences. These are all important things, but then a eureka moment. What was missing was that all important pastry. The one in the Uk we call a Danish, but here I'm guessing is just a pastry. It must be miles better than the flaccid, crunch deprived reproduction that is fobbed off on us at the home.
Well not long into the day. As the eastern coast of Denmark was reached a homely white painted weatherboard building appeared. The tell-tale golden pretzel hanging above the shop and the immortal words Bageri embellished below it. Through the steamed window could be seen all sorts of baked goods, sweet and savoury. Both were bought. The savoury kept for the next ferry crossing, which was in about two hours. The sweet though, devoured on a picnic table not far from the bakery. Crunch, chew and sweetness. The tang of the jam lifting the palate above the undertones of salted butter. Lifted indeed, my spirits rose, the miles melted away and I dusted off the last few miles, like I dusted off the last few crumbs from my jersey.
That’s it for now. If you have any vignettes to share please send us a message, H.