{"id":173,"date":"2009-05-04T03:01:18","date_gmt":"2009-05-04T09:01:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/peterstenhouse.com\/journal\/?p=173"},"modified":"2024-04-26T05:29:42","modified_gmt":"2024-04-26T11:29:42","slug":"cold-headwind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.peterstenhouse.com\/journal\/cold-headwind\/","title":{"rendered":"Cold Headwind"},"content":{"rendered":"

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Headwind to reckon with. Progress is slowed to almost a standstill, by wind racing over empty hills, through still towns and war cemetrys. Breakfast amongst the rape, bright yellow, and sheltered. The wind is bitter cold. I am glad when my canal remerges from a tunnel, and I can descend into the calm of its trough in the Landscape. I camp beside it tonight, between poplar trees. The path has deteriorated into a grass track, that makes for a comfortable bed, but is increaingly difficult to cycle on. It rains during the night, and in the static of droplets, I hear menace and footsteps. I go to sleep listening to music, that blocks my paranoia.
\nIts been a hard 95km today.<\/p>\n