Rosehips

A cycle along the muddy towpath up the river Avon towards Keynsham. Past the boathouse and shortly after, three rowing eights. On through puddles with no edges, spattered and speckled, to Hanham weir. Glad I got my sloes a couple of weeks ago, as the bushes in the field opposite the chocolate factory were almost bare. A whiff of coal smoke at the boatyard, anglers by the river bends, canoes upstream.
"What do you do with those?" enquires a woman by the wooden bridge over the inlet, where I pick rosehips. Emboldened by Hugh Fearnley-Wotsit's recipes in a weekend magazine, I spout off.

Caked and hot, nine miles from home, I've chanced my luck against a puncture from a blackthorn, hawthorn, thistle or flint.
I make my way up to the cyclepath, where it crosses the Avon and return home.

Make a few small bottles of rosehip syrup from 500 gms rosehips, 500 gms caster sugar and a litre of water. It really does taste like mango, as HF-W wrote.