Summer 1958. I was 11 years old riding my first proper bike, a Raleigh Trent Sports, about 11 miles from home in the Brecon Beacons, no road traffic, far from any houses. I had a puncture and, stupidly, no puncture kit. No phones of course, and my father didn't have a car or a home phone. It was a long walk home, even though I hitched a lift in a lorry the last two miles.

The ride out was a joy, the walk back was hard work.