Scaggers sat in his back garden, the summer burned bright, yet his mood was grim. He was tired, hungover, hungry and locked out. Riding highest on his tides of woe were the words of a beefy frenchmen, who had decreed that he was to spend his working hours in a remote outpost called Heswall. With only a cheap bottle of wine for company he concluded that things were not cool!
Some hours later, another not so beefy Frenchmen arrived from London town with words of a far more enticing nature. " Scaggers! Eschew these blues, tell the job to jog on, get on ye pushbike and we'll ride the West Coast. Vancouver to Tijuana, with as much mischief and adventure as we can handle!" Scaggers immediately knew this to be his destiny, the kingdoms of Kerouac, Cobain and Schwarzenegger had long been a dream. He booked the tickets that very night.
Now let me introduce to this tale a wee pixie who had travelled far and wide but now focused her attentions on a noble cause by the name of Clare House Childrens Hospice. Perfect! What a great opportunity to raise some essential funds for a more than worthy charity. His mission was now crystal and with a modicum of training and whole lot of work on his bike; Scaggers prepares to ride forth.
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