I remember one specific end of November, I was probably about 17. I'd seen the rain come battering down all morning, and I knew that in the dip, between the chemical works and the coal bing (it was a lovely part of the country), it would always flood, at least 2 or three feet deep. So I got my best pal round and we cycled down the hill to the appointed place and low and behold, a veritable lake about 100ft across. What to do next?Mike Sales wrote: ↑15 Nov 2022, 10:51am As I walked to the newsagent's this morning, wearing a heavy waterproof, I began remembering my outings in hard weather. These days are naturally the really memorable ones, and there is a certain fierce joy in battling the elements. I never felt so alive. I could bore you all with stories of hard days on the road, in the hills or at sea. The wind, rain or snow storms that my foolishness has led me into are vivid in my memory.
Roger Waters.The memories of a man in his old age,
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
Being a good pal, of course I let him go across first (under leaden skies, deep thunder and lightning strikes all around), he got about halfway and suddenly stopped dead, and toppled over into the flood. Not to be undone, I rode back up the hill and approached about 35mph, only to watch my bottom bracket and then my feet disappear into the murky brown. I got about twenty feet further and toppled into the slush myself. Both went home with huge grins on our faces. A moment shared, never to be forgotten.
Happy days!