Spring has Sprung

Has Spring really sprung yet? I look outside on the morning of the first day of spring and the rain is hitting the patio. The heavy drops hitting the patio door step, the skate ramp cover collecting puddles, which our dog will drink instead of his bowl in the kitchen. The bamboo in the corner of the garden, swaying in the wind, and the rain keeps on coming. Is it spring? I’m not sure.  Two day later as I post this and the rain is still coming. 

But when we reach the twenty-first day of March, the first day of Spring, that alone is worth a cheer, a little yelp of happiness and freedom for the darkness of winter. The evening post-work light allows for a surf or a bike ride. Just saying that 'post-work ride or surf' out loud is enough for celebration. 

Yes, Spring is in the air. The warmth of the March sun broke through briefly at work yesterday, and that was pretty nice. As I walked out from the day spent rendering in the basement, I peered out of the yard and was hit by the comfort of knowing that it’s nearly time to put the winter clothes away. Pack away the woolly hats, and the waterproof leggings, the thick jackets, and winter socks. The morning porridge, flask of hot soup or leftover stew that keeps you warm at work. Is it time to think about pasta salads and lighter sandwiches? Spring means that these few simplistic elements in a working day get lighter. As the days seem to get longer, the rushing around to fit everything seems to become more relaxed. By this I mean that weekends become less stressful. Trying to fit everything into the eight hours of sunlight when now we’ll have fourteen. 

Riding to work is just round the corner. Leaving home at six, and taking a quiet but meaningful cycle to work is a highlight of the year, heading into the sunrise, the calm seafront of Penzance, and the sea swimmers off battery rocks, or abbey slip (depending on the wind speed strength and direction) is always a lovely sight in the morning. As I pass another cyclist we exchange greetings, knowing we are on the same mission, the runners seem a little more less forthcoming in their salutations, they seem so serious. The ride home seems to be more like a training session, but not erratic. The sun in my face as I head back West is always welcome, but the hills are more of a challenge after a day being a stonemason. The way home takes me along the quiet lanes from Crowlas to Sancreed, Grumbla to Dowphra, and onto Sennen. The traffic on this route is minimal, and I relish that. 

After work surfing is relaxed, not hectic, the summer crowds have not yet arrived. There is no immediacy to get out of my work clothes and into a winter wetsuit in record time. The tempo is a little slower, allowing for a proper study of the conditions before heading in, rather than a glance, quick decision, manic change of attire and a sprint down the beach. Surfing also feels like the rhythm is returning, and as the sea warms a little, the winter boots come off, and that too is a moment to salute. There is always an initial cold bite to the water, but once the choice has been made to lose the extra rubber, it’s a commitment to say the least. Once again I can feel the bobbles of wax on my board, and my toes wrapped over the nose of my longboard. The hood, restrictive and blinkering at times is peeled off too, and for a time this becomes a neck warmer, the six millimetres of rubber around your neck acting as a means to stop the chilly ocean flooding down through the neck entry, and this will soon be shed too. 

When the surf is too poor to be of any use, I head to the hills on my mountain bike. The golden hour of spring and summer, my favourite time. As the sun gets lower on the hill, I ride laps, climbing up and racing down as fast as I can. I'm training at the moment for a big enduro event in the Summer, so this extra light is like a training aid. Riding also has more flow as the evenings get lighter and warmer. The winter trousers are replaced by shorts, the base layer lost too and short sleeves suffice. The winter jackets, washed and hung up for the winter, and the roubaix tights rolled up and put back in the box. The clear glasses back in their case and polarised lenses are cracked open again. Thick winter gloves join the roubaix tights, and the lightweight summer gloves make your hands feel bare, comparable to taking boots off for surfing. Summer gloves let you feel the grips, having better control of the bars and brakes. Riding bikes just gets better when Spring arrives. 
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I love the seasons, I love the woolly hats, the winter jackets, the boots, the heavy shirts and cords and battening down the hatches when the Wild West storms hit Cornwall.  But more than that I love it when spring arrives. Life just seems a little bit easier, motivation seems to increase, and I spend less time watching pointless television. For the most part, from now until November, you’ll find me outside until dark. Spring has Sprung, rain or not.