Useless credit cards: Tsk!
My shambolic biking escapades are split into a few distinct categories that are as diverse as Salford’s weather patterns.
In the early days we were bimbling around Europe like a rag-tag bunch of tyre-shredding nomads in a much-loved (but massively abused) twin-wheel Transit packed with tools, spares and (invariably) more bodies than Henry Ford or the forces of law and disorder considered advisable. Everything was on the limit, and I’m not just talking about the mechanical limits of Hamamatsu’s finest
