During the early 90s I read a biographical account by a young man who journeyed around the world on his bicycle. Like all my favourite books I gave it away at some point and have regretted it ever since. I cannot remember the name of the book or the author. The author was possibly a Canadian french speaking chap who had written the book in english. Travelling alone he developed a deep relationship with his bicycle. He of course named the bike, I forget what. The book had a few scratchy line drawings illustrating particular aspects of his bicycle. In one of the ‘stans he had an encounter with bandits on camels shooting ancient rifles.

Years ago I trawled the internet with what I could remember of the book. I found the author living in the french countryside. I thought I would send him a letter to confirm if he was one and the same. I didn’t and I regret it. I just had another look but can no longer find him, nor a clue to the name of the book.

Books, like bicycles, are like old friends. I miss them and regret their loss.