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I rode a very similar Raleigh Sprite for 10 years. This is a five speed, mine was a ten speed and had a different handlebar- less back-sweep.
The Four Musketeers met in the lobby this morning and headed to Disneyland (after a quick breakfast) for our last day of exploring fantasy. We rode on rides, did shopping and I tried avoiding at many people that walked in front of me with their eyes glued to their phones. My new saying is "Eyes on the Road, NOT on the Phone!!"
Met het Westfries Museum en het standbeeld van Jan Pieterszoon Coen in het midden.
Het plein dankt de naam aan het vele bloed dat vloeide bij de openbare terechtstellingen...
All Saints, High Roding, Essex
A mile distant from its village, at the end of a long lane with only a farm for company. The church was locked with a keyholder notice, two keyholders. A medium sized late medieval church with no tower. The churchyard was bowling-green smooth. There didn't seem much of interest through the largely clear windows. A large graveyard, though, for the village it serves is the largest in the area, so plenty of people sleeping the sleep of the just in the churchyard. Oddly, several of the graves have 1930s ceramic floral displays under glass domes - strange to think of them sitting here for 80 years. I cycled on, up through the village. I hadn't realised how high I was, but as I turned back towards the forest I descended steeply for several miles to the very pretty village of Great Canfield with its church.
Anthony Saunders, Bettina Saunders
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If any name's are incorrect, misspelt, or missing feel free to contact me with the image title so i can correct it.
"Rain Drops"
Life is a single drop of rain. It can have many journeys or none at all depending on how it lands.
It may be among many to form a vast ocean or a single lone drop on the pavement.
depending on what you do right-
equals what is light.
Author: danarakizzy
Got the bike built up on a rainy day where the trails were no good, so I rode it to vote instead. Of course, there were detours.
Rode klaver werd vroeger veel gebruikt als voedergewas en komt weer meer in de belangstelling voor de ecologische landbouw. Hij wordt wel geteeld als stoppelgewas, dat wil zeggen dat de rode klaver in maart en april onder graan gezaaid wordt en na de oogst van het graan verder groeit.
Rode into work this morning in freezing fog. My gloves and Jacket had a covering of frost on them. Character building stuff. Fingertips still feel a bit tender.
When i was a child, i think ca. 6-7, i showed the childern's film series, called Silas.
Silas, a 13 year old boy runs away from the circus to have adventures. He has a horse, a black one, since i am in love with horses. I painted a stick in black and used it as it would my horse. I rode in the living room, along corridor, in outside. I was realy a arduous child, maybe still i am. ;)
St Mary, Aythorpe Roding, Essex
A new entry on the Essex Churches site.
It was May 2014, the most beautiful spring of the century. I had taken my bike on the train from Ipswich to Bishops Stortford before heading off away from the hell of Stansted airport into the wilds of Essex. Now I veered eastwards from the forest, entering the emptiest and most remote area of the county. No villages for miles, just hamlets, fields and the occasional farmstead. The road to my next target would have meant a five mile ride, but I spotted a half-mile bridleway, of which there are lots in this part of Essex. It would cut three miles off the journey, so I took it. It was a farm track, deeply rutted, and it took me down the side of a barley field to copses in the distance, the hysterical yellow of acres of rapeseed in full flower beyond.
At first, it was just about cycleable, but then it wasn't, so I pushed my bike for about ten minutes or so. As I approached the country lane at the far end of it I thought there seemed something vaguely familiar about it, and then I realised what it was. Ah, I thought to myself, I'm entering East Anglia again. Now I was on hedged lanes through rolling fields of barley and rapeseed. Profound green, intense yellow. The road climbed, and over the rise I saw a spire. I headed down a track for half a mile or so and came to one of the most remote churches in all Essex.
It was locked, there was no keyholder notice. An inexpressibly lonely place. The church itself is a poor little thing, its wooden spire shot through with woodpecker holes. There were no notices of service in the porch, and so I expect it has fallen into disuse. Redundancy beckons, and perhaps it will be left to go quietly back to nature. It might just as well be left open, in which case it would at least serve some purpose to passing walkers, pilgrims and strangers.
And yet there was something very special about just standing in the churchyard, in the silence. It felt like nothing had happened here for a very long time. I looked down at the inscription on a memorial cross to Our Dear Son, Bertie George Emberson, who died at the Military Hospital, Caterham, Surrey, September 7th 1918 aged 19 years. How awful. And yet, I thought, the churchyard they stood in to watch him put into the earth has not changed. The one they knew is the one there now.
Simon Knott, April 2018
All Saints, High Roding, Essex
A mile distant from its village, at the end of a long lane with only a farm for company. The church was locked with a keyholder notice, two keyholders. A medium sized late medieval church with no tower. The churchyard was bowling-green smooth. There didn't seem much of interest through the largely clear windows. A large graveyard, though, for the village it serves is the largest in the area, so plenty of people sleeping the sleep of the just in the churchyard. Oddly, several of the graves have 1930s ceramic floral displays under glass domes - strange to think of them sitting here for 80 years. I cycled on, up through the village. I hadn't realised how high I was, but as I turned back towards the forest I descended steeply for several miles to the very pretty village of Great Canfield with its church.