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Tempted to start a crowd-funding initiative to plant a twentieth tree in the name of arboreal pedantry
Or go for infamy with a chainsaw.
Le Pleney black - pure zen
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My garage.
I have a soft spot for Mabie Forest, even despite the felling in recent years.
Google says not, a mere is disproportionately shallow for its surface area - a very big puddle basically. Also a mere doesn't have a thermocline. So strictly speaking, not quite. But also yes.
Surely the word was used for centuries before anyone bothered to plumb them and before anyone knew or cared what thermoclines were.
Its just geological formation of bodies of water with that characterisic coinciding with geographic proximity to people who used the term "mere" for a body of water.
On the gravel bike somewhere in Spain
Either out somewhere near Old Winchester Hill ridge on the bike, or chilling out in nice weather at Longleat Center Parcs.
Not just a place, but a time too.
9am, Sunday morning, spring, the trails are dry but the nettles and brambles haven't really pushed in yet. I'm about an hour into a 2.5 hour long run, the sun is shining but it's not hot, just warm, single layer, maybe arm warmers, shorts obviously. There's a good group out too, Amy, Adrian, Dan, Chris, Leah and Rob, chat is flowing. The pace has been relatively comfortable, and it's still early so fatigue hasn't kicked in yet. We crest a climb in the Worcestershire countryside, the view opens up and the group slow to take it in, we know the route well and so everyone is thinking about what's next, a mile of flowing downhill singletrack. Smiles all round.
Forgot one. Miss it hugely. IYKYK
Beacon Hill trig on the Quantocks. Stood there with wife, and 2 very young kids whilst on holiday in May 2016 and made the decision on the spot to move to the area from Essex. Had made the move by the end of the year.
Was a massive thing for me, having always lived in the same place. It's become a bit of anchor in my life now and a place I go to regularly on rides to reflect.
Scattered my mum's ashes up there too so often have a little chat with her.
Love those hills so much and puts everything in perspective sitting up there.
And when I've done all of that stuff I hurtle straight down into Smiths Combe. 🙂
I have told my wife I want my ashes scattered at Whinstone Lee Tor on Derwent moor in the Peaks.
Cut Gate always has me completely lost in the momen, it's just so involving
And for all the pedants, blame autocorrect for changing Peak to Peaks. Sorry to spoil your fun guys
Peak District/Peaks (Plural) there are two, White Peak and Dark Peak. I know they were possibly named after the occupiers but times have moved on!
Where I am now in the Motorhome, gazing down Derwen****er to Borrowdale and looking at all the hills we have walked over the years. I never tire of the view but the flood warnings can get a bit tedious!
Sorry can’t edit the asterisks out of Derwen****er
Perhaps we should rename it
Surely the word was used for centuries before anyone bothered to plumb them and before anyone knew or cared what thermoclines were.
Its just geological formation of bodies of water with that characterisic coinciding with geographic proximity to people who used the term "mere" for a body of water.
Google AI didn't say that though, so it can't be true 🙄
Also, I used to love the thing where you turned up at a climbing hut or campsite in the pitch black with no idea how the surroundings looked then woke up the next morning to a stunning mountain view. It always felt a bit like a - much slower - version of a Star Trek transporter beam, particularly when I lived in London and felt like I was entombed in tarmac and concrete.
Pretty much any weekender away with bikes, beer and good company. Cornwall with the missus, and weirdly when I'm on my own on a decent run in the van.
I’d say, close to home on Totley Moor a few minutes from home with views to Sheffield one way and the Hope Valley in the Peak the other way.
Further afield, the island of Tiree in the inner Hebrides. Been going for about 15 years now and with my now wife for about 8 of those. It’s the one place where I’m forced to relax and take my foot off the gas.
And finally abroad, pretty much anywhere in the Alps or Rocky Mountains on skis or a snowboard. I find any kind of snowboard really relaxing in the sense that it requires concentration and focus so forces all other nonsense out of my head.
I used to have a nice place on a hillside near where I grew up that made me feel happy and relaxed, at peace even, but I left there a long time ago and have not really been back since.
Now though, I have a house a decent way outside town with a garden that is 50% forest. With a hammock up and the sun out, it's a nice place to be. The only other time/place I feel any kind of peace is in freefall and that is just because I'm totally in the moment. Most other times I'm thinking and that's annoying.
IYKYK
That wall always looked like it was going to fall over to me.😂
We'll be in the area later in the year so may call in and see Marco and Jackie.
I quite like it up here, or anywhere I can see the three hills from.
Specially in the winter when there are even less people around.
There's a saying round here that if you can see these hills you're not lost.
And these local woods are particularly lovely:
Always seem to get amazing light.
Actually, when I'm stopped mid ride for a cake and a coffee is a happy place. Being in peak parenting stage of life, the vast majority of my rides have a deadline so if I get a ride where I've got the time to stop halfway feels pretty luxurious.
Nurburgring Nordschleife - after a few evening laps on a quiet autumn TF (if there is such a thing) and with the realisation that I have survived it, yet again, somehow.
It basically is a place of extreme bucolic, poetic beauty for me yet at the same time brutally savage and terrifying to experience when on it but incredibly rewarding when you get it right, which is rare. It beats any adrenaline from mountain biking.
Best memories of my life from an active experience point of view and is just about beaten by my time with my kids.
By a particular rock on a particular hill in Northumberland, preferably at sunset on the summer solstice, or sunrise on the winter solstice, but any time really.
Ross Sands, also in Northumberland, where my wife and I married ourselves, witnessed only by the dog.
The beer garden of the Free Trade Inn in Byker, on a quiet sunny summer afternoon, looking up the Tyne to Newcastle Quayside, with a pint of Echelon and a book. Dog optional.
Being in the woods (doesn't matter where) on my bike. Even better if it's one of those days where the sun is baking off the morning mist and beaming through the trees.
Sitting a top a mountain, blue sky, fresh now, strapped to my snowboard contemplating the run down.
Iveragh, SW Kerry. Just popped back to London today. Heading back first thing tomorrow on the motorbike to spend summer and autumn there. 
Dressed all in black. On my hands and knees on a cold night, the smell of wet broken turf and chilled meat, and the sound of my own muffled, maniacal laughter. Hammer in hand, driving frozen Walls sausages into a neighbour's lawn.