Long, long ago, when tyres were thin and frame tubes were round, my friend Bernard organised a bike race. It was a time trial. A small time trial. A small, badly organised time trial. It was notable for the village hall being double-booked with a funeral, which gave it a more upbeat atmosphere than many time trials, but led to a tense stand-off over a plate of bread pudding. In retrospect, we should possibly have let the grieving family just have it. I’m still waiting for the race results, and also my prize money.
Nonetheless… “I can’t believe how the Tour of Britain fell apart,” he said - referring to the organiser SweetSpot's demise - on a ride last week. “I mean, it’s not difficult to organise a bike race. I should know.”
