Across Continents

Ken's Blog

Few degrees

I’d stopped for lunch in a small cafe in Pershore. Spotted a window seat to watch over my trusty steed outside. Approached by Phil whilst I was retrieving a few items off the bike. Laden for long-haul he’d said. Was I doing End-to-End? Not exactly, I’d replied, quickly adding I’d ridden from Lands End to John O’Groats some years ago.

He’d a strong Lancashire accent, and I’d asked if he and wife Jo were down on holiday? No. They lived locally now. I’d explained I too was a Northerner, from Manchester. As was Phil. Worsley he said. I smiled. Spent my early years there. Mention of the East Lancs Road. Maine Lee Primary School.

There’d been quite a few intriguing encounters over the past couple of years. Australians off to visit relatives in the next village to my own. Fellow English cyclist Ann Wilson I’d heard a good deal of in Bulgaria, chance meeting in a Los Angeles hostel. Degrees of separation thing. Phil recounted a similar experience over the skies of India. Twins he’d not seen in decades.

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