Cycling – I’m going to be honest, its not my absolute favorite way to explore the countryside. I’m more of a pull on those favorite walking boots kind of person. There’s something very comforting about pulling on boots that have accompanied me to many distant parts of the world – we’ve shared so many experiences together. But perhaps I should be closer to my bike – my New Year’s resolution. There’s a bonus to riding high through the countryside. An elevated view, head and shoulders above the hedgerows with the air in your face and the sight, smells and sounds of the countryside breezing by. It’s like hiking, but in fast forward. And so I take my new resolution to the wild west of Suffolk. To the wind blown, big sky, broken landscape known as the Brecks. Sandy soils, tree belts that break the horizon, expanses of heather. It’s an early winter's morning and as I sip from my flask of morning caffeine I soon realise I’m not the only chilled soul parked up at West Stow Country Park. There are others here; a handful of hardy types out there somewhere linked to their loyal canine friends by flexible dog leads – not sure who’s walking who though. Tyres pumped, helmet adjusted, water bottle secured and cycle computer reset – it would not be a proper cycle if you did not chase a PB and keep in double digit speeds – would it?? I ease out of West Stow’s car park, and head west into a slight head wind towards Ramparts Field picnic site, a postage stamp patch of heathland – a great spot for a picnic but that’s another day’s outing. I turn north and slipstream my way along the main road. This is the hardy bit, sharing tarmac with rat runners and weekend drivers, never the best combination, but in my bright top not even Mr Magoo could miss me today. I’m in my yellow jersey and keeping a good pace on my own personal Tour de Suffolk hitting 17, now 18, now 19 miles an hour, it’s top gear on 2 wheels! I flow northwards into the picturesque village of Icklingham with its brace of excellent pubs, over indulgent thatching and smattering of pink cottages. Here I turn off the tarmac and start the off-road adventure. Its head down and concentration on as I ride a rutted track from Icklingham into Dead Man’s Grave – a haunted expanse of rabbit cropped grassland each nervously alert to the sound of that mysteriously buried horseman who returns on full moons to ride his mount again. My head’s down and concentration stronger as I pelt through this section. I pedal over a sandy rise with expansive views to the south, this really is big-sky-Suffolk, past tumuli of a buried past, to Berner’s Heath, a rectangle of heather. The going gets tougher now as I head past the heath and begin to struggle along a sandy track – this is like cycling on the beach – I’m feeling it, just a little further and then I can earn a stop. My wheels spin, I slide left and then right, can I stay upright, no I can’t! No-one sees my slow motion tumble, but in this landscape there is no pain as the sandy soil cushions my fall. I walk to slightly firmer ground, and re-saddle to round the top of The Kings Forest. I pass a memorial to King George V, after whom this place is named and delve deep into the forest. This section is an exhilarating rise and fall ride along a 4 mile long track parallel to Queen Mary’s Avenue along the ancient Icknield Way. Here I rapidly eat up the ground on the oldest road in Britain. How many Iceni have walked where I now ride I wonder? The wind flows through me as my out of the saddle sprinting returns me to Ramparts Field where I rejoin the road to West Stow Country Park and glide back to my car. Having travelled 12 wonderful miles I treat myself to some now tepid coffee and a well earned chocolate bar. Where to next I resolutely wonder as I pack the bike away and start the journey home…