Ah Patrick, you've stirred memories. A couple of months back, I was doing my usual morning jaunt up and down the coast when I hit the fast part. This is a stretch of main road I use to join two quiet bits. 'Tanyrate I work up a bit of speed say 25mph - flat chat on my Specialized Shark beach cruiser; 40lbs, 50mm tyres with an off road style tread - and I come to the traffic lights where there is a bunch of serious lycra just getting underway. I cannot resist, I sweep around them, baggy shorts flapping, tyres buzzing and yell out "C'mon fellas pick up the pace!" In five seconds they're gone past in a wave of grim intent. Not even a call, but then I was laughing so much I wouldn't have heard. Something about riding brings out the child in me, I'm sixty six, can't run as I have herniated disks, can't walk long distances as a kneecap floats about but I can ride for hours. I can climb hills, although not on the Shark, dawdle along the cycle path through the kids and the dogs, sprint down a quiet road, and linger on that stretch of the cycle path that follows the ridge of the sand dunes overlooking the beach.
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