After an evening's debugging code and munching pizza in the lab (took a while to get here, I'm starting to wonder if I should hand out OSM maps of West Cambridge to the pizza delivery guys) I thought I'd go out for a ride whilst the pile of Dominos settled in my stomach.

I walk out of the department, notice that it's much colder than the recent weather had led me to expect and then spend a few minutes fiddling with my front light bracket, putting it on upside down, losing the nut, then getting confused about which way is clockwise... By this time I'm feeling the cold a little and am glad to set off and start making some heat. As I cruised off down the cycle path to Coton, I noticed things were a little dark - the recent new moon had escaped my attention and outside the twin beams of my headlight the pathway is pitch black. A section of the tarmac overhung with trees gives the eerie impression of a long dark tunnel.

Arriving at the start of the bridleway network near Coton, I pedal down to the first bend in the path, calling out to warn occasional rabbits out of my way. I reach my intended destination - the entrance to a local conservation walk - and lock up my bike, leaving the lights on low to help my find it in the dark. With the flashlight in one hand and my GPS unit in the other I push through the squeaking gate and into the field beyond. In proper English countryside fashion, the signpost had indicated the intuitive direction "up and to your right a bit". I cast about in the field looking for some kind of clue as to the path I am intended to join, walk into a spooky little wood, decide that wasn't the best plan and finally set off across the field in the direction I suspect was intended.

The field seems empty and quiet for maybe a couple of hundred feet. There's a ditch and a thick hedge to my left. Up ahead an occasional twinkle catches my eye. First it seems to be my eyes playing tricks, then I recognise them reappearing in the same place. And then some more. And then yet more. One pair rises up into the air a few feet whilst more points of light wink on nearby. I've found some cows; this is not exactly unexpected but I certainly wasn't expecting 10-15 pairs of glowing malevolent eyes staring balefully like something out of a horror movie. I advance a few more steps. More of the eyes rise off the ground; the leader's pair sways around and appears to be considering a step towards me. Like a cud-chewing zombie mob, they're scenting the nearby brains of the living and preparing to lurch into action. Another pause - a standoff. Considering my options, I note that the cows are pretty close to my intended path and much closer to the far gate than I am. There's only one other exit that I know of and that's behind me. Oh dear.

Cows, for some reason, seem to like to hang out at the edges of fields. They probably like it there and I imagine that at night they value their personal space. They're not very good animals to be around when startled so a strategic retreat is in order. I turn back to the distant glow of my bicycle, casting frequent glances over my shoulder as the disembodied eyes watch me trudge away. None of them float eerily after me. Good.

Back at the lab I have no new mapping data but there's coffee and the infinitely more friendly blinking eyes of a hundred computers. Not a bloodthirsty moo to be heard.