Outside my local minimart, a couple of teen fair weather bikers were bitching about being cold in the snow… Bugger me, get a bloody grip, eh?


Curiously, after the humiliation in the pub I described in my previous post, the next day got even more surreal. Alison and I went to visit some friends near Hebden Bridge, also tucked up in the Pennines. At the time I was quite a keen mountain biker, so leaving Alison and friends in the warmth I cycled out into the snow and low lying cloud.

It was cold but I had a good time, but as it started to get dark it seemed to be a good plan to head back and hit the mulled wine. I was heading downhill on a fairly steep farm track that crossed a road and continued on to where I needed to be. I had a fair turn of speed up to try and make light of the uphill stretch on the other side of the road. It was all going to plan when…

View original post 278 more words