There are no Cadillacs in Bradford
I've not been doing anything like enough miles for the last month or so and it's been driving me quietly crackers and confusing my metabolism. Thus off down the cycle-path and back to burn off the night before. (space-meat, odd beer, much hilarity. Very fine.)
Bitton railway was over-run by bus-spotters. Shoving and jostling for good picture-taking position and the queue for a ride round the block in a sixties Cheltenham and district National Express coach. However, I have scruffy combats and an entirely accidental air of menace, so they leave me alone. Then the zing and pop and smell of a mob of two-strokes arrives from the bottom of the car-park. Crikey - it's the Mods. Is it going to kick off? A pitched battle for control of the tea-tent? Bike chains and wrenched-off aerials vs leather-strapped ticket machines swung with the deadly accuracy of a survivor of the school run?
Unfortunately not.
Bitton railway was over-run by bus-spotters. Shoving and jostling for good picture-taking position and the queue for a ride round the block in a sixties Cheltenham and district National Express coach. However, I have scruffy combats and an entirely accidental air of menace, so they leave me alone. Then the zing and pop and smell of a mob of two-strokes arrives from the bottom of the car-park. Crikey - it's the Mods. Is it going to kick off? A pitched battle for control of the tea-tent? Bike chains and wrenched-off aerials vs leather-strapped ticket machines swung with the deadly accuracy of a survivor of the school run?
Unfortunately not.