Tiverton, a Devon Market Town. 11.30pm, Saturday night. The Police are busy with the tipout of the local pubs and bars, when through town comes a spread-out line of cyclists. They all have good lights, maps, routesheets and head torches on their helmets.
As I come through, at the rear of the line, curiosity has got the better of one of them.
"What are you lot doing?" he asks me, with a touch of incedulity in his voice.
"A bike ride." I say.
"Where to?"
"Just around"
"How far?"
"400 kilometers"
"What for?"
Silence.
"Is it for charity?" he prompts.
"No."
He gives up, and goes back to his drunks. They make more sense.
The exact same exchange is repeated further on up the road.
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