Good times, bad times

Gimme some of that…

Ironic that it’s the bad times – squatting at the side of the road fixing a puncture – which make the good memories right? As a student in the 1980s, living on a grant in central London, my primary mode of transport (other than the CZ combination documented elsewhere at Mondo) was a scrap of cardboard and my thumb. The card bearing a destination – 'Further' to paraphrase Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters – and my thumb frantically flagging down passing (unfortunately male) motorists generally interested only in the contents of my Levis than any desire to whisk me from A to there.

And of course it’s the trips that went horribly wrong that are the most memorable. I certainly won’t bore you by recounting them here, suffice it to say that the next time you’re crouched in the dust poking an unsuitable tool into a flat tyre in a bid to pry it from a recalcitrant rim, bear in mind you’re making memories. Good memories.