Rabbit, Sniff, Rabbit, Sniff, Rabbit...

The final training session before the big trip could have got off to a better start. Last minute work commitments for Amber and an alternative weight loss programme for Alex left just Vicky and I game on. Well, OK, game on is an overstatement for Vicky - full of cold she did try putting me off via text but I failed to take the hint.

So Vicky and I set off down Brick Hill (the 1:10 hill out of Ashendon which, if taken in a downward direction, usually means it can be avoided for the upward return journey home - I say usually!). At the bottom of the hill, by the old station, came Rabbit no. 1 - a sorry little chap blinded from mix amitosis and hopping around the road directionless. We stopped, discussed who would put it out of its misery (and how), failed to come to a decision, helped it to the kerb and left the poor thing to whatever fate befalls it. Downhearted we carried on to Dorton and up the hill to Chilton.

All familiar ground so far until we got to the Chearsley turn out of Chilton and here we ventured forth onto new territory. You may recall my excitement a few blogs back (the day I cycled with a very grumpy Amber) at finding a new bridle path - well here it was and today was the day to try it. We found ourselves on an overgrown, downhill, rutted track. Here I'm afraid our morosity re: rabbit was quickly overcome. We had excellent fun - travelling downhill at speed (my brake blocks are non-existent), lifting our legs clear of stinging nettles (most of the time) we concentrated on staying on top of our bikes as we hit unseen ruts. Then, after adventures in a wheat field and a short pedal over a meadow we emerged on the Thame to Bicester road near Oakley. We crossed over the road and picked up another bridle path.

Now on flat land we kept a good pace until we encountered Rabbit no. 2 - which was actually a magnificent Hare. We stopped to watch as, completely unaware of our presence, this beautiful creature sat upright sniffed the air then lollopped away across the field. As we set off again the Hare became aware and, rather than using speed to escape us, it flattened to the ground and folded its ears down to 'hide' from us. Brilliant, there we were in a field playing hide and seek, on bikes, with a Hare.

We tore ourselves away from the Hare entertainment and continued through fields and along tracks until we came out on a bend in the road close to Worminghall (by the recycling unit for those who know it). A quick left and left again took us onto the Shabbington road where we passed quite a few stables and yards before turning onto another bridle path headed back toward Westfield, just outside Long Crendon.

And here was Rabbit no. 3 - 'Hare' I shouted excitedly causing a shorter eared, shorter legged common garden (and happily healthy), obviously less inventive than a Hare, Rabbit to leap to its feet and tear off into the undergrowth.

The track here was extremely uncomfortable - obviously the stable owners on the Shabbington road make good use of this facility whatever the ground conditions leaving lumps, bumps, potholes and gouges that are incompatible with bikes. Our travels became punctuated with oohs, and ouches as we bravely pedalled on. Until Vicky suddenly abandoned her bike and dived into the bushes unable to take the continual shaking any longer!

At this point Vicky was now on familiar territory from her days riding, and working with horses, in and around Long Crendon. With the wind in my ears I really couldn't hear her but that didn't stop her rabbiting on and I got occasional insight to the lives of the residents of Westfield.

At the end of Westfield lane we found ourselves in the familiar surroundings of Long Crendon, carefully avoided the coffee shop and turned toward Chilton with plans afoot to turn right for Chearsley and approach Ashendon via a gentle, relatively rolling, hill. However, a last minute decision was to return home the quicker way via Chilton and Dorton (we nipped through Ashfold school for a last little off-road moment) and, despite my bike chain throwing itself off in protest, we climbed wearily up Brick Hill to home and breakfast cooked by our boys.