I was quite proud of myself. The machine, which had stood idle for years in the garage, slowly rusting away, since my wife has decided it was too dangerous to continue using, now stood gleaming in front of me.

Well gleaming may have been a bit over the top, but it was certainly roadworthy again. The saddle was a bit worn, and I hadn't been able to recapture the pristine finish I'd have liked on the wheel chrome, but it still looked good.

I was ready for my epic journey.

This would take me into territory I hadn't been in for at least fifteen years. Ever since I had been able to afford a motorcycle and then a car I'd not had much use for bicycles.

My journey was a journey to fitness.

I had noticed that over the years since my retirement, I had visibly thickened at the waist, and now it was getting uncomfortable. I was not overloading my body with food, except for the odd biscuit or two, but my downfall was probably wine and beer. I made my own wine and loved drinking it, and I always had a couple of pints when I went out, which was at least three times a week.

The day dawned bright and sunny, it was a Wednesday, I remember, that I set off on my first attempt at weight loss. I was at a disadvantage right from the start. The road I lived on was a cul-de-sac, and I had to pedal uphill. I must have looked peculiar to any of the neighbours that happened to be peering from behind their lace curtains, my backside was already high in the air, and my face felt as if it was getting redder and redder with each push of the pedals.

I almost threw in the towel then, but having done thirty-mile yomps in my youth I was made of sterner stuff. I turned the corner at the top of the street, and found myself able to resume my seat as I was on level ground. The bike had creaked and groaned on the way up, and I wondered if it last longer than my resolve to achieve a svelte like figure again. Knowing me I thought it probably would.

Mr. Sampson was as usual cleaning one of his boss's cars in front of his house, and I nodded as I rode past, trying to look nonchalant without success. My cheeks were still glowing from my exertions.

"Car broke down then?" He shouted to me, as I moved into the distance,

"Oh no," I replied, wondering what tales he'd tell his mates in the pub later that evening. I was determined to push on, so let him think what he liked.

The next corner loomed, and this time I had a choice. A wonderful freewheel down a steep hill, or a short sharp pull up to the next bit of flat road. No contest, I knew that if I took the easy option I'd regret it when eventually I had to push the bike all the way back up. I often drove past determined young and not so young men pedalling up this hill, but no way would I get even a quarter of the way up it riding.

Old Mrs. Carey was the next to accost me. I remember fancying her forty years ago, but looking at her now I couldn't remember why. She was a sweet old thing whose husband had crossed the great divide four years ago, but she was always on the lookout for some one to perform a small task for her. I knew I couldn't just ride past her, I just hoped that she didn't keep me talking for long. I had raised a sweat already and I didn't want it drying on my skin in this windy weather.

No joy. I was expertly reeled in, and within a couple of minutes my bike was leaning on the wall of her house, halfway down the drive.

Her 'fridge had stopped working, and water was beginning to drip from it. "I know you'll be able to fix it in a jiffy," she said brightly, "I'll just pop on the kettle while you sort it out."

She knew I had been a service engineer years ago, and she had immense faith in my abilities to successfully give the kiss of life to dead electrical items. She had more faith than me, but I resignedly bent myself to the task.

Luckily it was an old 'fridge, one that I was familiar with, so a quick kick on the side of the starter relay and once again it buzzed away merrily. Sticking pistons was a common fault on these relays, thank goodness.

After being thanked effusively and drinking a welcome cup of tea accompanied by a large slice of home made jam sponge, not so welcome in my quest to get fit, but eaten with gusto nonetheless, I once more mounted my trusty steed. I wobbled for a few moments, getting my balance, and this time I managed to ride up and down several more streets. I hadn't realised that I lived in such a hilly area. Well you don't do you when you drive around in a car all the while. Some of my wife's complaints from the past (and the not so distant past,) rose in my mind. "We'll have to move soon," she'd say after a particularly hectic round of shopping, or visit to friends. Now I understood what she was getting at. Perhaps it would be cheaper to buy her a car of her own.

I had made an error of judgement. While riding along on 'autopilot' I hadn't realised that my route took me more downhill than uphill, and now I was a long way from home, and worse still, the road I was on was much lower down than my house. I was also feeling exhausted. My cycling adventure had lasted for almost an hour's actual riding time, disregarding my stop, and I had to make a decision. Should I ride home, with all the pain that that would entail? I could see the hill looming in front of me, and I could imagine the ones around the corner. That option didn't appeal, but what was the alternative? I could abandon the bike and walk or catch the bus home, but I didn't trust my fellow men, and the thought of the wife's bike not being where I left it when I returned later with the car didn't appeal either.

Luck was with me. My next-door neighbour slowed down in his lorry, "In trouble mate?" He asked.

My face lit up. "Yes Paul I am, the gears are acting awkward, and I'm having to push it home." A white lie never hurt anyone did it?

Two minutes later I was ensconced in his cab, listening to him chat about what a rough day he'd had. Me too I thought.

I unloaded the bike and locked it in the shed. These days it is gathering dust and rust.