Machines made to fly

My Blogs have, of late, been branded grumpy. Belligerent, even. Consequently, here is a blog about how much I like Coventry.

Yes, you read that right.

Commuting is not necessarily the most pleasant experience. The most direct route to University from my house takes me immediately up a hill and across or around a windswept common before forcing me to clamber over the railway bridge at Canley Station. The only brief respite comes from the long smooth ride down Sir Henry Parks road, coasting down the step hill (obviously the return journey is considerably less pleasant because of this). At any rate, you spend most of it braking to avoid crashing at full speed into the dual carriageway and roundabout at the bottom. Then it’s a further series of roundabouts (negotiated on the pavements, naturally - not necessarily legal but providing you’re considerate the police seem to turn a blind eye to it here. I suspect it reduces accidents overall). By the time you hit the calmer green roads on campus your body is sweating, your throat is dry and your eyes are streaming. And after all this you must sit still for an hour with your shirt sticking to your back while the lecturer drones on interminably about bending moments and concrete reinforcements and whatnot.

It doesn't feel right. The bicycle is a machine made to fly along calm country roads, not labour up and down like this! This route is hot, dusty and coated thickly in diesel fumes from the HGVs.

Alternatively.

I turn left out of my front door (always a good direction - when in doubt, go left) and cycle up the gentle hill, past the charming roundabout with its clock and library, past the co-op (where I can even stop and buy a chocolate bar for my lunch), past the charming 1930s half timbered houses with cedar trees in the gardens, then left again (really, such a good direction, and if you make three of them it‘s just as good as going right) before turning off the main road and down a long, gentle hill. Steep enough to build up a good bit of speed, shallow enough to facilitate easy return travel. It takes me across two streams (a delight to hear in the early morning or late night - a reminder that the natural world is not so far away as the concrete wasteland of Coventry city centre would have you believe) and one bridge which I suspect from the design and cut of the moss-covered red sandstone blocks is at least a century old. Most amusingly, it takes me past a single storey bungalow with Greek columns and a marble statue of Dianna, a French poodle yapping at the gate, and a weekly visit from the Irish Elders Centre minibus to ferry its occupants to their tea and bingo sessions.

I love that it takes me through part of a wooded copse, and along a hedgerow starting to show signs of life - bluebells, lady’s lace and cuckoo spit are poking their heads up to join the daffodils and other vain narcissi already illuminating the greenery, amongst the discarded cans of special brew and scrap metal.

I love that on a calm, clear night I can cycle back along the road and listen for the gentle rush of the streams as the run south in the dark. I have been told that after the war Coventry buried most of its little rivers underground to make building easier - I don’t know the truth of this, though.

I love that, even though my route will still take me along part of a dual carriageway, by the time I hit campus I am whistling tunelessly as I whoosh along in a whirring blurring rhythm of wheels and pedals.

I love my journey to Uni. Even more so now that it is accompanied by the hum of bees and the raucous clamour of birdsong.

It’s not home, but just because I love London, doesn’t mean I can’t love bits of Coventry too.