And the Lord said:

"Let them ride bikes. For this time of year is a time of celebration and happiness." And so it was that on the 63rd day of my illness, I did rise from the sofa and did take out my trusty Surly steed to help banish the evil virus from my body. And low, though I did ride through the alley of the thorns, I feared no punctures. And I did ride over the hills, and across the downs and through the fruitful forest. And when I had travelled many lonely miles and my spirit hath lifted and mine iPod run out; I turned homeward. And the sun set on a beautiful day and the world was good.

And whence I returned from my pilgrimage I did drink tea and eat cake - for every Englishman knows in his heart that these are truly the body and the blood of Christ - and the world was good.

And so, with a smile on my face and a spring in my step (despite aching legs), with the feeling of the wind blowing through my helmet so real I could almost be out there still, I can finally write about riding my bike again: a ride I will never forget. The bright orange sunset flickering through the trees as I approached Ivinghoe Beacon, (must remember camera) then as the terrain changed slightly I lost site of it, the flat Buckinghamshire countryside stretched out beyond the horizon shrouded under it's dusky orange veil, until I turned west directly into the sun down to Ivinghoe and it was so bright and low I could hardly see the road in front of me! This is why I ride bikes.

And life IS good!