Over the Severn Bridge, of course.
But here is proof, if proof be needed, that I once went to Wales on my trusty five-speed bicycle. Some time in the ’80s, I would guess, before the need for Lycra or, indeed, a helmet.
My ex was a nice chap and pretty fit, certainly fitter than me. We cycled all over the place, took our bikes on trains, rode them to work, rode them to the pub and staggered back with them. We astonished my elderly aunt by turning up outside her static caravan on Hayling Island. We made a train driver move an entire train further up the platform at Fareham, so we could get our bikes off. We helped my friend do a moonlight flit by bike. We rode the Bristol-Bath cycle track completely stoned and in darkness – quite often. We toured Yorkshire. We laughed at my nephew outside the cider house when he mounted his bike after a night out and fell straight off the other side. Yeah, wild we were … in a gentle sort of way.
I had to leave my bike in Bristol when I moved up here ‘cos it wouldn’t go in the van, and I bought a new all-singing all dancing one with 1,000 gears (I exaggerate slightly) which scared the hell out of me so I raffled it for a good cause. There are too many bouquets at the side of the road for me to want to start up again round here, but I do miss it.
This post is to make up for my inability to think of any songs about cycling, apart from the ones which have already been nommed. Anyone else got some spokey tales?