Coo, this clay is heavy. After a good deal of waggling – or is it wiggling? – my leg is once again mobile. But simply lifting the mud-caked foot requires the strength of a superhuman; the weight of the boot – needing both arms to lift it – is like constantly dragging a medium-sized child … Read moreDangerous Dorset (Part Two)..
‘Is there a path, Dad?’ I holler. Ahead of me, an intrepid figure – beneath a cap with “Sports” marked on the back – flails among impenetrable brambles. ‘Yes, if you’re a badger,’ he yells back. Blood is leaking from his left forearm. We are trying to walk the South West Coast Path in Dorset: … Read moreDangerous Dorset (Part One)..
‘This is where my route falls down,’ admits my father. ‘I don’t know how to get back.’ Taking a sanguine view, he pours our well-deserved tonic – a flask of tea – and consults the map again. His finger traces the disused railway line we’re cycling along, and he absent-mindedly eats my last apple and … Read moreTwo Wheels in Sussex..