Smeathe’s Ridge
I push hard and far over the Down, leaving behind the kids and their sledges. The chalk has grown white skin, as if the grass was shaved away; the ruts are filled and hard and the bike moves easily over them until drifts bog it down. Great lungfulls of freezing air and then the ridge: empty, endless, from here to Four Mile Clump a great frozen opening.
Loving your musings Jonky – Happy Christmas!!!!