Much of today’s square was taken up by stuff that loosely lumps together under the heading of ‘infrastructure’. Railways, roads, round- abouts and railings. Big metal things. Corrugated sheds. Padlocks. Pylons. Pick-ups with orange hazard lights. Men in hard hats. Things I don’t understand but that I know are important. All the ‘Keep Out’ signs on this grid square were definitely for the best.

I tried to get a closer look at a 400kV electricity substation, but its mysteries were obscured by rings of trees because, between 1968 and 1973, an admirable 725,000 tall trees, 915,400 smaller trees and 17,600 ground cover plants were planted to screen substations across the land.

My limited interest in infrastructure exhausted, I followed a cycle path alongside the dual carriageway, dodging broken bottles amid the traffic roar. The smells of warm tarmac and diesel brought back fond memories of cycling the world’s highways. I peered down from a bridge at an overgrown pond, thick with slime and dotted with traffic cones. Then I turned off at a slip road and rode into a town. There were large,

Suburbs

detached houses at the top of the hill, and the homes became smaller and closer together as I freewheeled down towards the town centre. A pony and trap cantered by, ridden by two young lads in vests, and trail- ing a patient line of backed-up traffic in its wake. I left the main road to go and cycle around some residential estates.

Over the course of this year, I’d always enjoyed visiting grid squares that most approximated wild countryside. And I also liked the busy towns brimming with human life, beings equally intrigued by man- sions and poorer areas. Today I was bang in the middle, riding through street after street of suburban homes.

‘Get out of the bloody field!’

‘I’m on a bloody footpath!’ I yelled back, both because I was angry and because the man leaning out of his 4x4 window was far away on the road.

It was an ineffective, hard to hear argument, so I just turned my back on the irate driver and continued following the path across a grassy field. I hate any form of confrontation – even a cross tweet upsets me all day. But this one particularly annoyed me because I was on a public footpath.

I would have understood the landowner’s anger had there been no right of way and I was trampling crops, tearing up the land on a motor- bike, dropping litter or worrying livestock. But his assumption that he had more right than me to the earth, wind, sun or sky irritated me.

Bluebells

We all need to access the natural world for our enjoyment and health, and if enough of us develop a connection with nature we might be able to reverse its destruction. But our history and laws have put so much of the countryside in the hands of so few people, that we have allowed a culture to establish where going for a walk is seen as invasive or damaging.

This ‘get off my land’ ticking-off put me in a blue mood when I should have been enjoying the clear blue skies and the bloom of blue- bells. And it was a shame, because I could see that a lot of trees had been planted here – something that always lifts my spirits – so the landowner and I probably had far more in common than the gulf of our shouting match suggested. Had we chatted congenially and disagreed agreeably, the two of us would more than likely have ended up cheering for trees but feeling frustrated at government feet-dragging.

For example, one tree-loving landowner told me they tried to plant 200 acres of woodland, aided by receiving a grant that didn’t make the venture profitable or even balance the books, but at least made it man- ageable for them to do the right thing for the land. But they were then told to apply for planning permission to plant the wood. By the time it came through, policies had changed and the planting grant had been withdrawn, leaving them with tens of thousands of tree whips sitting in their greenhouses. It is so frustrating to hear stories like this.

I passed a primary school in a forgotten-looking estate of identikit tower blocks as I cycled into today’s grid square. The playground was full of joyous shrieks and laughter, and three colourful quotes were dis- played on the wall:

• ‘Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.’ – Carl Sagan

• ‘Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.’ – W.B. Yeats

• ‘The more you read, the more things that you will know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.’ – Dr Seuss

These are brilliant quotes for an education built on curiosity not box-ticking, but they also summed up what fascinated me about div- ing into my map.