My family and I used to go camping in Yorkshire
and we often went walking. And on this occasion we'd made our way to the Great Stone of Fourstones , which is just a big ancient rock on the moors about a mile or so from the nearest village.

So, being about 10 years old, I was clambering about, thoroughly enjoying climbing to the top of a sacred marker. And from my lofty vantage point, I spied a curious fellow cresting the top of the hill, riding a bicycle.

As he came closer, he turned down the path leading from the road to the stone, and rattled across the mud towards us. He was on a old folding bike, and wearing tattered looking pink cords, and a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. Odd. And he'd appeared from further within the moors, meaning it was at least ten miles from the nearest village he could have come from.

He stopped at the bottom of the stone, produced a old looking camera, and asked my mum to take a photo of him on top of the stone. "Right-o" she says, and he disappears around the back. With his bike. And tries to climb up. With his bike. The stairs cut into the rock are steep, and the bike was heavy. I was helping him up with it, and I swear if I hadn't been there he'd have fallen. The stone is 18ft high, so it's no small drop.

He finally managed to make it up there, my mother took the photo, and he descended with almost literal break-neck speed back down the rock, before retrieving his camera and cycling off into the distance.

I wish I could post a photo, but we were stunned into inaction by the sheer oddity of the guy.
( Mr.Ons knows you can hear him, Earthmen., Sun 24 Apr 2011, 17:06, 1 reply)

"almost literal"?
that's going in the book.
( Sextant goes to him is emotionally erect, on this day, Tue 26 Apr 2011, 7:49, closed)