A walk I often took with my father during my visits to him. It was no longer possible for him to do this after 2015. Cycling was, however, not beyond him, right until the last weeks of his life.
A simple walk
We've just come out of the forest. Turning left, uphill, we leave the bustle of the school going out behind. Well-to-do houses line the right hand side of the street, but the woods continue to our left. The street becomes a narrow lane as it passes between two houses. Not much further along, we reach the open fields, where horses quietly graze. The path loses its paving upon reaching the top of the slope. Briefly, we halt by a lone bench and turn to take in the view. A tall chimney stack belches smoke from the incinerator. Closer, spires loom up out of the smog, covering the nearby town. In the far distance, a line of low hills march along the horizon. The outline of a church can just be made out at its southern end. It sits in Germany, 20 miles away. Downhill we resume, and presently reach a cobbled street. It heads up a gentle incline between rows of beech trees. It passes the wooden stands of a football club, but nobody is playing. The road ends, but a path passes through a wooden gate, which slams shut behind us. The track rises rapidly above sports pitches, but then dives into the forest. Ascending steeply, it runs above a steep sided valley. The going is rough, even though we pass a mobile phone relay mast, it's equipment humming softly. Soon, the gradient levels off and we reach the forest road.