My outlook wasn’t nearly so sunny sitting in the drizzle at Chichester waiting for Dylan to ride in. I had been lazy, which otherwise translate to sensible my first day as a cyclotourist, opting for a train ride out of Brighton and a 10 mile ride after. To save us the £12 Dylan was going to ride the full 35 miles. I watched some old mates cleaning boats by the canal then wired by the station, surrounded by school girls in uniforms they had altered to test the limits of propriety.
As Dylan rolled in some 2 hours later I was restless to go. Oh how england put on a show for my first ride in the country, the bike path was surrounded by wildflowers and green lest trees swaying in the breeze. Ducklings, peter rabbit without his blue jacket and pheasants nestled in the grass straight out of the pages of Beatrix Potter. Old stone cottages were clad in wisteria and as we neared the hilariously named village of Cocking energy began to flag. Perhaps luck follow travelers or perhaps I just look heart wrenchingly pathetic puffing up hill, a stranger stopped us and in the kind way generous souls do insist we take an ice cream each as he had bought too many. It takes practice to know he to encourage people to take your kindness guilt free. The ice cream, my favourite from childhood a mint choc drumstick, gave me energy to ride on. The sun had broken through the clouds and everything was glowing gold, oh England you are beautiful.
