Just a few miles can make a huge amount of difference. Today we managed to escape the mountainous murder of Devon to tackle Somerset and already the whole landscape has a different feel to it.
Yesterday, the buzzing of the bumblebees that filled the hedgerows sounded like a crackle of electricity, a life-force running the roads, the veins of the countryside. Today the crackling came from pylons hanging heavily over the Grand Western Canal. The ducks seemed unperturbed but it gave the land an artificial feel.
We started today by following the NCN 3 along the canal bordered by farmland. It was such a pleasure to cycle on flat ground for a long stretch, and to be alert enough to notice the algae blooms and the reeds shedding their winter coats like little sheep. I even had a few moments of childish glee continuing to cycle under the tiny footbridges across the foot-deep canal, despite the authoritative notices that this was STRICTLY FORBIDDEN - CYCLISTS DISMOUNT.
The lulling ride also got me thinking about the outdoor music I'm hearing, now that I don't have headphones permanently plugged into my ears. It's like hearing a symphony that I can appreciate on one level but, at least at first, I couldn't distinguish the different strands that make it up - I've never been taught to listen out in the right way - and all I could really make out at the start was the bass-line cawing of crows. Now I'm starting to be able to hear the blackbirds' song (such a British bird, the blackbird, with its descriptively pragmatic name but with so many songs written about it) distinctly and I can clearly make out gaggles of bluetits arguing in the bushes.
I'm also learning the distinct melody of my bike, and hearing when something is wrong and out of tune. In fact, I get into such a sonorous mood rhythmically peddling on these stretches of flat ground that when my feet occasionally slip off the pedals it's as if a CD has skipped or someone has pulled the needle off a record - jarring and deeply unpleasant.
The most difficult part of the morning was trying not to run over the dogs that kept getting in the way, and keeping a smile plastered on when helpful people pointed out how much stuff we were carrying in our panniers.
At Taunton, we had to make our way over to Glastonbury on busier A and B roads, across the pleasant Somerset Levels (landscape stretching comfortingly into the distance) and the Mendip Hills (less hilly than they sound). Matt's bike has started making increasingly alarming clanking sounds (yet another thing that needs sorting in the morning).
We ended up doing about 46 miles today, not very impressive for hardcore End-to-Enders but far more than we've managed in a day yet and without too much strain, so I'm very pleased. I hadn't originally planned to go through Glastonbury but there could be some good filming opportunities now we're here, at another hostel over a pub.
Tonight's playlist includes: Blackbird - Beatles; Blackbird - Unthanks; and of course Blackbird - The Wurzels
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