Wickham Lane, Winchelsea

It’s a quarter to five in the morning along an evocative old sunken lane near the village of Winchelsea. By now I’ve already ridden over an hour by lamplight along darkened streets and down winding country lanes to be here. A subtle pink glow in the sky and just barest tinge of warmth on the sandstone facade of the farmhouse on the hill behind me is the first tantalising hint that sunrise is not far off.