“I used to be fit.” The old timer said as he looked down sadly at his old bike. “I could ride up to the lake district, round Windermere and back home in a day. Now look at me, my knees are wrecked, my back aches and my balance makes me wobble all over the place.”
“You need to keep cycling though, I said, I know it’s tough, but if you stop now you will probably stop for good.”
“I’ll ride to Scotland and back he said, no doubt it will take some time.”
“But you don’t know the way. Why not try cycling on canal towpaths?” I suggested.
That was two weeks ago. I haven’t seen him since. Though I did get a post card from John o’Groats saying “in Scotland, can’t find the canal!”
He woke up in darkness, the window he has climbed through last night was now boarded up. He was alone in the barn, but his hands were tied behind his back. He heard a quiet rustling in the straw. A squeak and he realised there were either rats or mice sharing the space with him…..
Everything had been quiet when he had crept into the barn about 8 o’clock the previous evening. He’d been setting up the camera when something or someone had hit him on the head.
What the hell do I do now? he thought. I’m stuck.
He glanced about and he saw something black in the corner, an old scythe? Yes stck under some sacking. It was so easy in mystery stories. Just rub against the blade and escape…. Two hours later he’d got through one strand of rope, his wrists were bruised and cut and he was sweating with the exertion of trying to escape. If he ever got out of here he would have words with his mates…
This was not how a stag party was meant to go!