Early Riser

As if I needed any more of a reminder that autumn is here, just this week I’ve started rising before the sun. Thanks to shorter days, and a yoga crush, I’ve been breaking my own ‘never rise before 6’ policy. Erin Motz is the cheeriest, most unassuming pretzel of a yogi, who makes all sorts of twists and bends feel doable. Seriously, check out her 30 day challenge.

I like the max-out-your-day feeling of being up with the sun, but in the height of summer the sun rises way too early for me to match it (this sleepless weekend being the exception). So September is a good time to spend 30 days waking up early to salute the sun. I don’t know if this morning routine will last in to the dark wintry mornings. But for now, I’m loving my early stretch.

Fontastic

I am a bit of an everyday font nerd. Not the sort that knows a great deal or can label fonts at five feet; more the common garden bird variety that rages against Comic Sans and quietly subverts the ‘only use Arial’ workplace rules. But with this book I took a dip in to a world of skilled craftsmanship and serious typeface passion, where people care about the shoulder and face, about the kerning, and the picas. Not to mention its historic beginnings; in an age where it’s easy to share anything with a worldwide audience in seconds, it’s hard to imagine the enormous impact made by Gutenberg and the printing press.

With such variety and beauty in the faces and founts (as they were originally penned) it seems a shame to never stray from Calibri or Courier. Some lovely new discoveries for me were Peignot, Stone and Vendôme.

I’ve been noticing the font on everything, and finally caved in to my curiosity and got the WhatTheFont app. Once you start looking, you notice this rich variety to our everyday communications, and will find a few favourites and some pet hates.

Meanwhile, I discovered a new pangram- Grumpy wizards make toxic brews for the evil Queen and Jack- and watched a video of that classic quick brown fox in action.

Au Gîte

So we didn’t actually camp every night of our holiday. We rolled it up in favour of a few nights of home comforts and a family reunion in Burgundy. Getting there involved a mad dash across Paris for connecting trains, which was such fun I think Tom might be a convert to city cycling. My family greeted us off the train on a fleet of bikes and we had a merry escort up the hill to the gite.

We spent the days catching up over lazy breakfasts, enjoying the perfectly smooth roads, and visiting local villages. We welcomed in my 31st year with strawberry tarts, sorbet, and espresso. It feels a good start to the rest of the year.

On y va à vélo

We have returned from a fortnight in France, riding through sleepy green lanes and over far, hay-baled fields. We gorged on buttery pastries, and creamy brie, daily baguettes and refreshing afternoon beers.

We stopped in plenty of towns, ordering grand cafes and hunting out English newspapers. We weren’t always able to get our coffee early, making the the first of the daily kilometres pretty tough. But we were spurred on by varied roads, several ferries, and persistently cheerful cries of hello from the many fellow riders about.

We cycled 500k, poring over new sections of maps, and seeking out campsites with our rudimentary French. Our bikes got along famously as ever, valiantly carrying us over dusty tracks and through rainy winds.

We got along pretty famously too.

Sleep is Overrated

Or so I told myself after having very little of it this weekend. The evenings are the most inviting part of these hot days and this weekend the outdoor air was more tempting than a bed for the night. I spent Friday sleeping under the stars, and Saturday cycling through the night.

By sundown Friday we had hiked our sleeping bags and dinner up to the top of Mottistone Down, and watched the light fade. I haven’t slept outside without a tent since I was a teenager (and back then it was only an impromptu post-pub lie down). Sleeping outside is its own entertainment and, despite carrying my heavy book and torch up the hill, I was more than happy just watching the sky change, spotting the lights of boats out at sea, and listening to the changing sounds in the woods below us. We slept across the middle of what is by day a very busy path, but by night was a perfect quiet spot for two.

I woke up to the dawn on Saturday morning with a hankering for more summer nights of adventure. And so I made last-minute plans with my dad to ride the Dunwich Dynamo. That guy will never say no to an adventure.

This overnight ride takes hundreds of cyclists 120 miles from London to the Suffolk coast. From the moment we started cycling across central London we were swept along in an ever-growing number of bikes, all headed to London Fields for the start line. We prepared for the ride with a can of a stout and a fresh-faced ‘before’ picture.

The group effect never wore off, as our critical mass took over the roads leading out of London, and on to the lanes of sleepy villages, people spilling out in to the road as they stopped at the pub for a quick pint or cup of coffee (much-derided by the landlords). This ride is a long way, so I left the boozing for people made of stronger stuff. I was on the sugary tea.

The roads were perfectly-sized for a group of bikes and we streamed along amongst flashing back lights, hi vis jackets, spinning spoke LEDs, and strings of fairy lights. The countryside might be dark, but there was no way you’d miss us. The just-rock-up-and-ride nature of the Dun Run creates a fabulous mix of machines and easy camaraderie. There’s nothing competitive about it; we’re all just trying to stay awake and make it to the beach. Which we did, after a few power-naps (on Dad’s part) and every last snack in my bar bag. By the morning light we piled into the tiny seaside hamlet of Dunwich, cheered on by a friendly welcome party, and availed ourselves of double breakfast- one at the beach cafe, the other at the pub. This ride is one for your diary- challenging, friendly, and a definite summer night adventure.