West of Manchester and it was drizzling as I left work at 5.25. The planned ride was to Dunham, onto the Bridgewater Canal and then over the motorway and back home along the Mersey.
Though I’d been listening to songs while working, the promised on loop of African by Peter Tosh didn’t happen. Rain stopped play, I think.
Through the lanes, there was a certain comfort in the rain gently popping against my face, and I passed a lone runner, earphones in, working away steadily. Onto the canal towpath for thr first time, this wasn’t the dust of late summer hoped for. Instead, a thin ribbon of grass between me and my waterloo, and slithering along the path on road-hard 24s.
One narrow boat with yellowing lights, and a contend dog tethered, another bearing towards me, deep blue, with pilots hidden in cagooles. A grunted hello, but they didn’t hear. And then I was at the bridge. One, two, three, up the steps and back to the black stuff and through the outer burbs of Altrincham before joining the heavy traffic all the way home to Didsbury.
So long summer, you went out with a fizzle. But we still love you. Kisses xxx