As my bike had drawn attention to itself by being nicked, abandoned and found, I decided to renew our old friendship by taking it out for a ride. On Sunday afternoon I slung my leg over it and took it for an hour-long, 15-mile circuit that goes up hill and down dale and ends with an exhilarating three-mile freewheel down to the sea, followed by a final killer hill that normally finishes me off completely.
I am currently not fit. Tendonitis in my heels means I’ve taken no exercise for two months. During this time I’ve been further enervated by drink and some rotten, highly adulterated drugs. Worse still, I’ve become fat. And when I arrived at the foot of that final killer hill, I felt too out of condition to face it.
Rather than selecting the highest gear and pedalling dementedly up the hill, I got off, choosing instead to walk the bike up the cliff path.
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