Surfing the UK
IN July 1973, my mate Jamo and I picked up two second-hand bicycles at a pawn shop on Kensington High Street, threw our meagre possessions into backpacks and lit out on the A3 headed for Cornwall. We hadn’t been in London very long but we were running out of money fast, largely thanks to our massive ale consumption while watching Max Merritt and the Meteors play three times a week at a pub on the Harrow Road. With the few quid that remained, we decided to get ourselves down to the surf coast by the cheapest possible means. It was a well thought-out plan, conceived by looking at a map and deducing that England was quite small and flat. Both our bikes had Sturmey Archer three-speed gears, so we thought we were in good shape. We weren’t.
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