A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.
After a few minutes the farmer turned up in his pickup and he spread out feed for the cows who were as enthusiastic eaters as was I.
I wish I'd got a photo of the farmer, grey haired, well built guy with a good face. As usual he seemed in no particular rush so we did the usual: talked about recumbent bikes, travelling, and life.
We left together, him in his pickup, me on the bike but on the narrow road curvy downhill I easily kept pace with him for the few kilometres until he turned off.
It was a good job I was going downhill and motoring since near the bottom a dog spotted me, even though he was a hundred yards away outside the farm that was away from the road, and he gave chase. He came hareing across the fields and down the road, I could see him in my rear-view mirror some 50 yards behind. Doing the usual dog thing: bark bark, I'm going to eat your legs when I catch you bark bark.
Quiet country lanes, green, trees and pointy hills.