Fuel for Thought and Swimming

Swimming at Peil Wyke feels rather like casting yourself off the ramp of a multi-story car park into urban waters.  The flyover of the A66 roofs the slipway, held up by cavernous concrete walls and pillars. The rumble of traffic is pretty constant by 10.00 in the morning.

Limits of engineering and the practicalities of a narrow terrain notwithstanding, it does seem we are afflicted with tunnel vision in that wherever there is a particularly lovely length of water we try to drive a busy free-way as close to it as possible. However, when time is short and it’s raining hard there is car-park with hard standing here and easy access in and out.

Also, putting the noise aside and looking at the scene in a different way the grey, angular frame of the man-made construct perfectly sets off the monochrome tints and undulating lines of the rain swept natural world beyond. It focuses the eye on a limited view and condenses the quality of light and line, where otherwise the whole vista of a drab lake under a pall of wet would just send you back in a huddle to the car and a determination to find a café and coffee.

A quick sprint through the tunnel dispels lingering yearnings for that easy option and with the smooth slope leading seamlessly into the water the sprint launches into a splash; a body boat with arms outstretched as a prow and a couple of engines kicking out behind.

The air temperature is above freezing, despite sporadic snowfalls over the past few days and the water not immediately numbing but it’s not long before the burn sets in. I think about fuel, all those cars swishing overhead, burning up refined oils to keep going and me trying to burn off the refined fat of Christmas eating. It’s an uneasy comparison of greed, but unfortunately it doesn’t stop me from looking forward to breakfast and driving the car home.