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…
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