mrodoc
Well-known member
About 15 years ago I expressed a wish to have a Boxing Day caving trip and Angie (my wife) agreed (or capitulated). We decided GB would be a good bet as a trip that wouldn't be too strenuous but work off some turkey overdose. We picked a Christmas when we actually had snow and it was still lying around in the sub zero temperatures that day. We changed into our fleeces which at that time were in-your-face psychedelically patterned then drove up in my old Ford Ranger, and after collecting the keys at the Belfry, and headed for Charterhouse. The roads were pretty icy in places and, as we rounded a sharp bend above Velvet Bottom we almost collided with a helmeted cyclist staggering about in the middle of the road with blood streaming down his face. Turns out he was looking for his missing tooth. We scooped him up putting the battered bike in the pickup and set off to find help followed by another passerby who ad a really impressive Rastafarian hair do. There was no phone reception for mobiles so we stopped at the cottage at the Charterhouse junction. I got out, knocked on the door and a small child answered. I explained the situation and escorted the injured cyclist to the owners care. Angie had a brief chat with her before we set off down the road for our delayed trip. Turns out the child who had seen me had asked her mother if there was a circus nearby as she'd seen a couple of clowns. Ne'er a truer word spoke in jest.