iRide.2020.05.22 Baling

That baler moved north to the next field and I could see and hear it from my computer desk. It was making a clanking and clunking noise that reminded me of hearing early-morning sounds from the railway-freight shunting yard when I was a child.

I also remember summers from long ago and faraway when I was allowed to drive the horse that pulled the hay wagon. Mrs Gates would bring 'four o'clocks' to the field and I can almost taste the strong tea and salty rock cakes across the years. I think such a memory would have moved Proust to have added an eighth volume to À la recherche du temps perdu. Like the novel, my ride was incomplete because Strava failed to record the first fourteen miles. I feel your pain, Marcel.

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