Season of mists and mellow fruifulness.
And leaves, and sticks and acorns and chestnuts and dead squirrels (really - its carnage out there at nut-gathering time) all combine to make a nasty mixture of death-cookies on the road verges.
The old bike is is popping and a-hopping thru the detritus of organic gunge. And the bits that don't bump your wheels up and sideways conspire to cover the holes in the road!
Bloody countryside! I wish I lived in the city and only had to worry about cans ad dog-sh*t.