I don’t know why she’s leaving … or where she’s gonna go.

At 7.43am it was drizzling and Mystic Meg started to receive the first excuses on the WhatsAp OGIL group. Adrian craftily got in first, that for the next couple of weeks he would be turning bowls, not wheels.

With a not very optimistic weather forecast I set out for Union Corner, where Phil1 and Colin awaited. Kath had not been able to top Adrian’s excuse but did not pleasure us with her presence, so at 8.50am, on the dot, we continued on our way to the other place. I was surprised to see Alice at the High Cross turn. Just for a moment I caught her eye, but she declined my invite to join us. Something about, … was it work?

Simon, Mike2, Phil3 and TD hardly swelled the ranks but this seemed to be our full complement. Surprisingly, with no Fred to take charge, and no Ian to ignore him, we soon settled on a destination and with cabinet like decision-making we found our way across to Jenn’s Diner, at Redruth. With no need to pick up Jan at Crane garage, she had wimped out, it was towards Gweek we first travelled, then a right turn at Brill, up to 4 mile hill, but across to, or rather UP to, Treloquithack and then right and across the Helston Road. At Wendron the prospect of the Redruth Road, in fog, was not too appealing but the lesser risk of turning left for a short while was agreed, before turning across the traffic and over to “This dog Bites” cottage and Releath. At least the drizzle had stopped. Then it was Troon, King Edward Mine, Brea village and along the cycle track to St Euny Church, West Trewirgie and through Redruth to Gilberts Coombe.

Jenn’s Diner may not look much from the outside but it’s the glittering chrome and neon lights of a “50-60s”? American Diner inside, with full size mannequins of Laurel and Hardy and Superman and a functioning Juke box. There is even a separate, less well established room to the side, unoccupied except for a mannequin of an Afro-American baseball player, shades of the Green Book?, but I don’t for one moment think that was intentional. American breakfasts were, of course, on the menu, with waffles and pancakes. The eggs on toast came over easy and sunny side up, but, thankfully, the bread wasn’t American. Mike was in his element but went quiet at the poster that read “The US Army is looking for you!”.

It was busy but we found two tables at the back. They were talking about boats on mine so I tried to zone out and listen to the conversation on the other one, without much success.

To lengthen the return journey a little we turned left on leaving cutting across through North Country and the footpath that comes out next to Roddas at Scorrier. Then it was the usual route to Mount Ambrose, Lanner Hill, etc. It had been a quite sedate ride but after Simon turned off one or two got the scent of home and the pace picked up a bit. 41 miles for me. Dean

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