gerardcarey
Veteran Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- CFx2, CPx1
I was now into the Meseta proper.
I’d just come over a hilltop and was dropping into a valley.
The Camino ran down the slope, then along the center of the valley floor.
It was autumn. In a treeless landscape the short golden stalks of the harvested fields swept up and away on each side.
I saw movement far away, up to my left.
A deer. Small set of antlers.
What was he doing out and about in clear countryside with the time approaching midday. Dangerous territory. No cover here.
But he knew that.
He was moving fast, down towards the trail ahead.
Such graceful creatures aren't they? With their fluid, high-stepping motion they add such a grace to the countryside.
A country would be the poorer without them.
I'd mentioned this to my deer farming nephew James as we'd surveyed his herd.
He'd looked at me strangely, in a farmerly type way. He regarded them differently.
I heard the crunch of gravel from behind.
That thin crunch of a bicycle tyre at speed.
I was quite close to the edge of the path. From habit I froze.
I'd learnt long ago that this tells the cyclist that I am aware of him.
It places him in control of the situation.
He knows I'm not going to make any sudden movements.
It enables him to select a safe route past.
He was moving fast. As he swept past I heard more coming.
Another three, safely spaced, whistled by, bent low over their handlebars.
Machine, effort, speed, muscles swathed in colourful lycra.
Quite a picture. Looks great fun. Wouldn't I just love to be able to do that.
I like cyclists. Except for them not using a bell. Frightens some pilgrims unnecessarily.
Many pilgrims don't know the etiquette that enables a cyclist to overtake safely.
They get frightened, then angry, then loquacious.
It appears both sides need some education.
I suddenly realised the deer and cyclist's paths were converging.
They were on a collision course.
With their heads and the hammer down, the cyclists were unaware of anything but the trail ahead, as was the deer.
As I watched transfixed, the deer approached the fence just as the first cyclist flashed past.
The deer gathered himself and leapt at it.
The second cyclist only just made it.
The deer touched down just behind him, took a balancing step then immediately launched himself at the fence on the other side of the trail.
From my viewpoint the third cyclist seemed to go under his rising hind legs.
Now that would have been some photograph.
The fourth had enough time to see the approaching catastrophe.
He pulled on his brakes, and, as his front wheel started to wobble, he swung his leg over the seat, pushed his bike down into the dirt. The bike skidded dustily into the verge. He managed somehow to keep his feet. His momentum kept him running down the trail a way.
That was nicely done.
Cyclists these days utilise that pedal-cleat system. He would have had very little time to get his shoes uncleated from the pedals. He could teach those 'Tour de France' guys something. Them and their almighty group prangs.
That was very nicely done.
The deer disappeared over the hilltop.
Amongst much excited Italian histrionics the cyclists gathered to exchange hi-fives and investigate the downed bike for damage.
I cheered, clapped, and waved approval as I approached.
I wouldn't have liked to see a cyclist injured.
I wouldn't have liked to see the deer injured.
The approaching catastrophe had been avoided.
So I guess I was happy with the outcome.
But someplace, deep down inside, where the evil Gerard lurks, I sort of wasn't.
Regards
Gerard
I’d just come over a hilltop and was dropping into a valley.
The Camino ran down the slope, then along the center of the valley floor.
It was autumn. In a treeless landscape the short golden stalks of the harvested fields swept up and away on each side.
I saw movement far away, up to my left.
A deer. Small set of antlers.
What was he doing out and about in clear countryside with the time approaching midday. Dangerous territory. No cover here.
But he knew that.
He was moving fast, down towards the trail ahead.
Such graceful creatures aren't they? With their fluid, high-stepping motion they add such a grace to the countryside.
A country would be the poorer without them.
I'd mentioned this to my deer farming nephew James as we'd surveyed his herd.
He'd looked at me strangely, in a farmerly type way. He regarded them differently.
I heard the crunch of gravel from behind.
That thin crunch of a bicycle tyre at speed.
I was quite close to the edge of the path. From habit I froze.
I'd learnt long ago that this tells the cyclist that I am aware of him.
It places him in control of the situation.
He knows I'm not going to make any sudden movements.
It enables him to select a safe route past.
He was moving fast. As he swept past I heard more coming.
Another three, safely spaced, whistled by, bent low over their handlebars.
Machine, effort, speed, muscles swathed in colourful lycra.
Quite a picture. Looks great fun. Wouldn't I just love to be able to do that.
I like cyclists. Except for them not using a bell. Frightens some pilgrims unnecessarily.
Many pilgrims don't know the etiquette that enables a cyclist to overtake safely.
They get frightened, then angry, then loquacious.
It appears both sides need some education.
I suddenly realised the deer and cyclist's paths were converging.
They were on a collision course.
With their heads and the hammer down, the cyclists were unaware of anything but the trail ahead, as was the deer.
As I watched transfixed, the deer approached the fence just as the first cyclist flashed past.
The deer gathered himself and leapt at it.
The second cyclist only just made it.
The deer touched down just behind him, took a balancing step then immediately launched himself at the fence on the other side of the trail.
From my viewpoint the third cyclist seemed to go under his rising hind legs.
Now that would have been some photograph.
The fourth had enough time to see the approaching catastrophe.
He pulled on his brakes, and, as his front wheel started to wobble, he swung his leg over the seat, pushed his bike down into the dirt. The bike skidded dustily into the verge. He managed somehow to keep his feet. His momentum kept him running down the trail a way.
That was nicely done.
Cyclists these days utilise that pedal-cleat system. He would have had very little time to get his shoes uncleated from the pedals. He could teach those 'Tour de France' guys something. Them and their almighty group prangs.
That was very nicely done.
The deer disappeared over the hilltop.
Amongst much excited Italian histrionics the cyclists gathered to exchange hi-fives and investigate the downed bike for damage.
I cheered, clapped, and waved approval as I approached.
I wouldn't have liked to see a cyclist injured.
I wouldn't have liked to see the deer injured.
The approaching catastrophe had been avoided.
So I guess I was happy with the outcome.
But someplace, deep down inside, where the evil Gerard lurks, I sort of wasn't.
Regards
Gerard
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