I was awake, this morning of a new day. The house would stand my absence for a while and I about the hills, or wade the burn, or simply not decide until the fork that makes us choose this way or that; all I have to do is choose my bike. When I was young and cycling was the way I moved about at all, I had a bike. The brakes were sound, the cotter pins were tight, the chain well oiled and fully clad in steel. I toured the north and carried shopping bags by turns