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Janet and I have just completed a 100 mile bike jaunt along the Kennet Avon Canal. Apart from my trusty steed—a red Dawes bike of indeterminate age—my other intimate companions were my padded bike shorts and a gel seat cover: essential accoutrements for the soft cyclist in need of extensive nether-region protection. What a pair of lifesavers! Travelling from Reading to Bristol, we spread the distance over a leisurely four days. Well, I use the term ‘leisurely’ advisedly as, whilst my sister exemplified the steady-paced, nonchalant style of the experienced and long-term cyclist, I trailed erratically behind: leaking profuse quantities of sweat and showcasing an undignified cycling style with a cartoon-like flailing of legs to accompany each inappropriate selection of an overly low gear. We confidently—and, it turns out, misguidedly— decided that we did not need to book accommodation. However, “there’s no room at the inn” became a mantra for the trip: on night one we purchased the last room available in Thatcham; night two saw us deviate off the bike route to the only room available within a four-mile radius; and by the final night, Bradford-on-Avon had heard of our imminent arrival and there were no rooms to be had at all. This dictated a short train ride to Bath where we secured the final room in the YMCA and checked in just before the arrival of a male stag party. All that said, none of the aforementioned were a deterrent and four days of fun passed happily under our wheels. The Kennet Avon national cycle route takes you mostly along the canal with some diversions onto small, winding roads when the canal track becomes less passable. Canal-side views included picturesque barges, restored engineering works to shift water at the canal’s highest point and the famous Caen Hill flight of locks. Whilst the back roads were more undulating, these sections of the route took us through pretty villages with thatched-roofed houses; allowed for lunch stops in peaceful cemeteries carpeted with soft-pink cyclamens; and afforded views of the Wiltshire white horses: chalky outlines of beasts captured in their eternal attempt to gambol and frolic across the rolling hills. A very pleasant trip. The final tally was one gentle fall apiece; several oily but resplendent chain marks to Janet; judicious bell use by Karen to move on a mob of Black-faced Suffolks; an equally-shared battering by the wind; no muscle soreness to Janet (i.e. some muscle soreness to Karen); extra points to Janet for carrying more gear; and a pair of intact nether-regions. Thanks JP. Er, … hesitatingly … maybe we should do it again some time?