I once met an old guy who looked a bit lost on the way out of south London. We were both heading for Brighton to see the finish of Tour de France stage in 1994. He was then 77, I was very much younger. He had few teeth left but plenty of his wife's ginger cake (parkin) to keep him going.
After 50 miles I was stuggling to match his pace. He had cycled for 3 days from his home north of Manchester to see the Tour. The next day we cycled to see the Tour near Portsmouth. He then set off back to Manchester.
He had plenty of cycling stories. He claimed to have cycled every day since he got a bike for his 13th birthday. He kept going until he was 85 when he crashed in Spain. He also had a bronze medal from the 1936 Olympics. (picture)
I once met an old guy who looked a bit lost on the way out of south London. We were both heading for Brighton to see the finish of Tour de France stage in 1994. He was then 77, I was very much younger. He had few teeth left but plenty of his wife's ginger cake (parkin) to keep him going.
After 50 miles I was stuggling to match his pace. He had cycled for 3 days from his home north of Manchester to see the Tour. The next day we cycled to see the Tour near Portsmouth. He then set off back to Manchester.
He had plenty of cycling stories. He claimed to have cycled every day since he got a bike for his 13th birthday. He kept going until he was 85 when he crashed in Spain. He also had a bronze medal from the 1936 Olympics. (picture)
Quite an inspiration, to meet someone like that by chance while cycling.
Harry Hill died in January 2009 aged 92.