After a very soggy week of staying inside and obsessively refreshing the new siege of Stalingrad being played out in front of us in real time, we were blessed with a bright and breezy Saturday. I thought it a good opportunity to get away from the rollercoaster of hope and horror. 

As I write this, an assassination attempt has just been foiled on Zelenskiy, and a few hours earlier the Russians bombed the Holocaust memorial at Babyn Yar, killing five people. There is confirmation that the Russian army used cluster bombs and thermobaric weapons in urban areas - an unarguable war crime. As an internationalist and fan of liberal democracy, this might seem like the climactic disaster of 6 years of turmoil. But frankly, we're liberated: we see our enemy clearly now, and we are steadfast. The democratic alliance has come roaring back. The EU flag will fly over Kyiv. Putin has miscalculated, and will end this one in chains in Den Haag - or worse.

So a perfect time to get out on the bike and remind myself of the good things in the world - the clean, bright air, and the spectacular coastline. Given the wind (unusually) wasn't coming in west off the ocean, I thought it a good time to make a run for the (in)famous Land's End, (almost) at the tip of Cornwall. Amusingly, the point isn't actually the furthest West or the further South in the UK - and it's somewhat blighted by a rather tacky resort. But it's still a wild and dramatic spot, free and easy to access - so I can't not do it.

Unfortunately it became clear a few miles after setting out that my camera has really given up the ghost. I couldn't get a single photograph out of it, which was a real shame, as it was a beautiful day, with incredible visibility along the miles of coast.

I decided to "pioneer" a new route to the west out of St. Erth, to get to the Penwith moorland around Nancledra without tangling with the St. Ives road. On paper, the route seemed obscure but passable - on the ground, what started out as a pleasant green lane became muddier and deeper, until I was standing-up pedaling through what smelled suspiciously like foot-deep pools of manure. Some boneheadedness meant I kept at this (despite the possibility of bailing) and I made it through, albeit with very wet, and not particularly clean, legs.

Things improved quite lot on my next stretch of off-roading, as I crossed the moorland at a new point near Georgia. A quite passable track - albeit with lots of gates, every one with a different fastening mechanism - took me across the moorland to Gear Hill, where I passed the Bay 'o Biscay farmhouse again.

But this time I was headed for Ding Dong mine. This route is superb. A high-level stony track, with great views over the cliffs and old mine workings. 

Then it was out into the lanes to cut south-west into the 20mph wind to head towards Newbridge and St Just. As I approached Carn Brea (a different one to the one near Cambourn), the vista opened up in front of me and I could see both coasts and the peninsular narrowing before me. I turn to the west towards Land's End airport and got the wind behind me, speeding towards the St. Just road.

I rode on the road to the vicinity of Sennen, joining the official cycleway on the A30. While it's narrow, I wasn't too sad to leave this behind as it peels away through Sennen village and cuts along the cliffs to Land's End itself.

The visitor centre actually seemed closed, and there was nobody manning the carpark, so easy to wheel myself in. There were lots of people walking about on the cliffs, including a man exercising a dog wearing a cone, that liked my sandwich.

My intention was to follow the official cycleroute NC3 all the way back home. The going was a lot easier, but I flagged very quickly, with a lot of headwind as I cut through the lanes to St. Buryan. To my amazement the light started coming down - I'd spent almost 5 hours already, a consequence of my very slow and muddy beginning. 

I turned the lights on and pushed along the B road. Instead of taking the convoluted route NC3 chose, down towards the bays of Lamorna and Mousehole, I figured there would be less climbing - and most importantly less hacking against the wind. 

I descended to the coast in Newlyn, around the bay from Penzance, down a frightening narrow street with a 15% gradient, with my back brake having given up the ghost from all the mud. From here I knew it was an easy ride along the promenade into Penzance - but the wind was howling off the sea, blowing me sideways on the wet surface, and making it a little perilous (particularly when avoiding the surprisingly large number of people out for a walk in these dark and inclement conditions).

In Penzance I decided to bail, as I wouldn't be able to see much of Mounts bay. I hopped on a train, with my bike the only one in the separate guard's van. Slumping in the seat, smelling faintly of manure, I don't think the only other passenger - a young guy - saw me until after he'd had a comically lewd phone call to his friend about where to pick up girls in St. Ives. When he saw me he looked rather embarrassed and extremely politely asked if this was the right train. It was quite touching, really.