A Bicycle Made For Two

One day a friend of mine told me the tale of how he and his disabled daughter had enjoyed a very pleasant afternoon cycling round the country lanes. They had hired a tandem for the weekend which had been very enjoyable and had also given his daughter tremendous confidence when he let her ride in front on some of the quieter sections.

The tandem was the property of the Birmingham School for the Blind. It was used by sighted people to take blind children for a ride. If it was not in use for this purpose, it was available for members of the public to hire.


My wife and I often spend Sunday afternoons walking in the country and I have tried on several occasions to interest her in cycling, without success. As a child she did not had a bike, and now she lacked any motivation to try. A tandem was a splendid idea I thought!

I phoned the school to enquire and the very next Saturday hired the tandem for the weekend. When I brought it home my wife was not impressed, “I am not riding that thing round here” she said, “the neighbours might see us!”

“OK,” I said, “we’ll take it on the car; into the country somewhere and cycle from there!”

She reluctantly agreed that we would go; tomorrow!

That Sunday morning was one of those marvellous summer days, the air was fresh and warm, just like being on a Mediterranean holiday; perfect day for a tandem ride.

My wife insisted on a leisurely breakfast, just a healthy cereal with fruit, followed by toast and coffee. The emphasis was on leisurely, she was in no hurry.


I put the tandem on the roof rack; it was too big to go inside the car. I suggested that we take a picnic with us but my wife insisted that if I was going to cajole her into riding that thing, the least I could do was to buy her a Pub Lunch.


We eventually set off. “Where would you like to go to” I enquired.

“Somewhere very quiet, with no one else around” was the reply.

“How about Lapworth Junction” I offered. She agreed with indifference.


Lapworth Junction is a very pleasant location in South Warwickshire. It is where the Stratford-upon-Avon Canal and The Grand Union Canal are joined by “a cut.”

The area has car parks and picnic areas with manicured lawns and barbecue places set up ready for use. There are at least four tow-paths that are perfect for walking or cycling along and there are also several bridleways and many quiet lanes in the area.

The tandem was unloaded and we had a few wobbly goes in the car park; then we set off down one of the lanes. After twenty minutes or so we came to the M40 motorway, which, at that time was nearly complete but not yet open.

“This will be good,” I said, “We can have the whole six lanes and the hard shoulders, all to ourselves.”

After we had been up and down the slip road and across the central reservation a few times, we decided to set off along the motorway, to see how far it was complete. We were going up hill for a time, this was quite strenuous. After we reached the summit it was so nice to free wheel down the far side.

We free wheeled on and on, it was marvellous, we must have gone 14 or 15 miles. It was so relaxing; we were really enjoying ourselves, travelling with so little effort.

As the motorway levelled out and we had to start peddling again, we saw the signs for Warwick. “Let’s go there for lunch,” I suggested, “Great” was the reply from behind me.

We tandemed along in the warm sunshine, into Warwick town centre, and found a nice place for our Sunday Lunch. The bike was chained to a lamp post and we went in.

The waitress said that we could have a table for two, but as they were very busy, the food may be some time. I explained that we were in no rush, they could take their time.

We had a very pleasant lunch; it must have taken a couple of hours or so. Sitting in their soft chairs relaxing we did not have a care, all was well in the world for us.


Have you ever put the wrong key into a lock and had the shock that the key would not turn and the door would not open? That was the feeling we had when we tried to get out of our chairs. It was as if somebody had set our feet in concrete whilst we sat in the restaurant.


First of all we had a laugh together and joked that we had eaten so much that we no longer had the strength to move our inflated bodies. This mood soon changed to annoyance that I really thought that a practical joker had tied me to the chair whilst we had our lunch!

The truth then dawned on us that from the morning’s exertions on the tandem, we had aches in muscles that we had not used for years. As we finally managed to get into an upright position, we found that we also had aches in places that we did not realise we had muscles.


The true facts of the situation then dawned on us that we were in agony; we were dressed in shorts and tee shirts, in Warwick. This was about 40 miles from home and also 16 miles from our car. The car was in a car-park that I would not want to leave it in overnight and we were in charge of a tandem that had to be back in Birmingham for the morning.

Our minds were working overtime as we tried to think of the best way of resolving our situation. Then the solution suddenly hit me.

Our car was parked at Lapworth, near the Grand Union Canal. This canal passes through Warwick. We are in Warwick. As everybody knows, canals have to be level.

All we have to do is find the canal in Warwick and we have a level tow-path back to our car. Simple!

In excruciating agony, we leant on either side the wretched tandem and waddled our way along the road that a passer-by had assured us, led to the canal.


My memory of the beautiful haven at Lapworth where my car was parked is of manicured lawns flowing down to block paved tow-paths. Unfortunately this is not the case at Warwick!

As we peered down at the canal from the bridge, it was difficult to imagine if either side of the canal had ever been a tow-path. It was also hard to imagine how the boats passed between the brambles that appeared to meet from either side of the canal.

With aching muscles and sinking hearts, we explored the area and finally found the overgrown tow-path.

The ground was so uneven that cycling was out of the question; we could not even push the dammed thing, I had to carry it. You cannot imagine how heavy a tandem is, especially when you need all your strength just to carry yourself upright.

As we left Warwick the tow-path became recognisable as just that. I assured my wife in triumph that we could now leisurely ride our machine along a nice level tow-path, back to the car. She was not impressed but she was hopeful that I was right.

Over the years we have walked most of the lanes and the tow-paths in this area and I was sure I knew them all. For some unbelievable, extra-ordinary reason one part of the local topography had eluded me. At Hatton, on the Grand Union Canal, there is a flight of 20 locks!

As we passed under the A46 trunk road, The Hatton locks rose majestically in front of us, looking every inch of their 100 foot height!

To cycle up this flight would be like trying to ride up the roof of a house. I tried to assure my wife that if we took a run at it, we may get half to three quarters of the way up.

With severely aching limbs beginning to regain their movement, we mounted the tandem and took a run at the path that ran to the side of the locks. It was not a smooth slope but a series of level sections and then steep parts.

On the first level section we managed to achieve enough speed to help us up the next slope. I tried to shout encouragement back to my wife, saying that it was not as bad as we had feared. I then shouted that she must push hard on the pedals as we climb the next rise.

The next rise was very hard to climb. As the bike slowed and I pushed with all my strength, I noticed my wife’s feet sticking straight out either side. We came to an abrupt stop and nearly toppled into the deep section of the canal lock.

“Why are you not pushing,” I yelled, “We nearly made it that time.”

“Don’t you shout at me,” my wife screamed back at me, “You are the one that got us into this mess.”

“I didn’t want to ride it here; I didn’t want to ride it anywhere and I am not riding it again.” With that she flounced off up the hill.

What a weight this contraption is I thought as I tried to encourage passers-by to help me push it. The trouble was that the few people around were helpless with laughter, embarrassed at the spectacle before them, or both.

When I finally reached the summit, my wife was waiting for me, sitting on a bench. We kissed and made up and tried to ride the tandem along the now level tow-path.

“There are no more locks between here and Lapworth,” I promised her, “I checked with a boating couple who have just come down from there. It is about 6 miles along a level canal, so we should get back to the car within the hour, without any further problem.”

For the first time since we reached the tow-path, we were at last able to ride the tandem, it was such a relief. There were no lights on the tandem and it was now beginning to get dark, we could see the canal glistening before us in the half light, it was a lovely sight.

I say the canal was a lovely sight, but I could not see where the tow-path went? Maybe it was just a trick of the rapidly fading light.

No it was not! The tow-path was definitely rising as the canal disappeared into Shrewley tunnel.

As darkness fell, along with the rain, we were frozen in our shorts and tee shirts. My wife was now sobbing uncontrollably. There was no more animosity or recrimination, she was just distraught.

The tow-path was now a very steep climb. Its cobble stone surface was worn smooth from centuries of foot and horse traffic. This was made treacherously slippery by the now very heavy rain.

In the dark and rain, I had to walk backwards up the hill. I was wedging my heals into the cracks between the stones of the floor of the tow-path as I dragged the tandem up the slope.

When I reached the top of the climb, I was exhausted. I just collapsed on the ground on a grassy patch beside the road. The tandem lay on the ground next to me and my wife was kneeling nearby sobbing.

If anybody had seen us they would have justifiably assumed that we were the victims of a hit and run road accident. Nobody did see us. Everybody with any sense was at home in doors on such a wet night.

When I recovered my breath and my senses I looked around and noticed a road sign that said, Lapworth three miles. It was all we needed to see. In the pouring rain and in the pitch dark we rode the tandem with no lights, along the winding country lane. There was no alternative, we had no reserves left.

Thankfully it was nearly all down hill, so we could free wheel a lot of the way.

Reaching the car park at Lapworth was rather an anti-climax, as opposed to the jubilation that one would expect after such an ordeal. We were so drained that there was no room for any further emotions.

When we first caught sight of our solitary car amongst the trees and lawns, it looked so ordinary that it was almost unbelievable. We half expected the mirage to disappear at any moment.

My wife helped me lift the tandem on to the roof rack and we both got into the car and wrapped ourselves in a jacket and a rug that happened to be in the car. This was all achieved in absolute silence; we were both completely drained of any possible emotion.

As we drove out of the car park I had the feeling that it was not me driving; it was like an out of body experience with me being an observer to the event.



The rain was now torrential as we drove slowly home along the country lanes. We had not gone far from Lapworth when suddenly there was a flash of lights in front of us. A car coming towards us crashed through the hedge on our side of the road.

I stopped our car and we both rushed over see if we could be of any help. There were four teenagers in a mini. They had skidded on the wet road and lost control; their car had rolled completely over and was now upright again.

There was a strong smell of petrol and we could not open the doors. Without a word between us, my wife and I ran back to our car. I grabbed a shovel that just happened to be in the boot of our car; my wife got on the car-phone to the emergency services and then rushed back to help me.

With the aid of the shovel, we managed to get the doors open and the occupants out of the mini. They were still very dazed when the police and ambulance crews arrived promptly.

Before we could continue our journey home, we had to give statements to the police regarding the accident we had witnessed. Although this is a formal procedure, the officer in charge tried to be as casual as he could.

“What sort of day have you had, before this happened,” he asked me.

“Oh, just an ordinary Sunday,” I lied.

“It looked more than that,” he said, looking at my soaked shorts and tee-shirt and the tandem.

So I gave him a very quick resume of the pertinent parts of the day’s adventure.

He laughed out loud before I finished the sorry tale.

“Why on earth did you not come back on the train,” he said, when he finally stopped laughing. “It is a very good service between Warwick and Lapworth, the trains run every two hours and the journey takes about twenty minutes.”

“Don’t you dare tell my wife,” I insisted.

As we drove home, it was my wife who broke the silence. She asked me where I found the energy from, to have dealt so efficiently with the situation we had just experienced, in view of the day we had gone through.

“Well,” I said proudly, “I was just about to ask you exactly the same question!”

Roy Aylmer 4 June 2003