Adventures of biking from London to Lagos
I was in South London last week, cycling through Croydon towards Central London. To make the journey quicker, I set off from my home in Wandsworth, along the Thames. After passing a stretch of high-rise flats, I turned left onto a quiet residential road. Just as I entered the quiet lane, I heard a horn blaring. I looked up to see a large motorcycle approaching me. As it approached me, I realised it was a police car. It pulled up beside me, turned off its engine and parked some 100m away. I got off my bike, made my way to the front of the car, and handed over the helmet.
This week, I cycled east to west around England. I was in London, heading towards Nottingham, and just as my bike was about to roll into its bag, I realised I had been spotted by the police. They had seen my Facebook account and the pictures I posted on my trip to the South Coast.
I got off my bike, made my way to the front of the police car and handed over the helmet. An announcement was made that the vehicle was not going to be stopped. I cycled off into the nearby roads.
I had just reached this point when I noticed the motorbike in front of me. The rider stopped abruptly and started cycling away from the bike. A few seconds later, the rider reversed direction and came back to re-join the bike.
I followed.
We were at the entrance to an estate. With nowhere to park, I went into the nearest house.
We were at the entrance to an estate. With nowhere to park, I went into the nearest house.
‘Well done,’ said the man. ‘This is a very clever thing to do.’
‘You’ve seen me in a photo,’ I said.
‘No, I wasn’t looking down a bit of road.’
‘It’s my Facebook page,’ I said.
‘I didn’t say a word.’
I left.
Back on my bike, I didn’t feel particularly clever. And I was beginning to think that
