Tom McLoughlin, a year-old schoolboy from Reading, attended the match. Early next morning, Tom and two of his classmates β Martin Taylor and myself β set off on our bicycles for the continent of Europe. Although by that time some ordinary British people were able to afford foreign holidays, there were still plenty, including myself, who had never left the UK. For many families, including much of the British middle class, Europe was just too expensive to visit.
But Tom, Martin and I had a solution which overcame the fact that our parents could not afford foreign holidays; we got on our bikes and pedalled east, leaving our homes in the Reading suburbs of Tilehurst, Southcote and Calcot far behind. A lot of planning went into this trip, a process which I took on and greatly enjoyed.
I made numerous visits to the travel section of our splendid new public library. I wrote to national tourist offices for free leaflets, brochures and maps. I also bought some of the new Collins pocket travel guides, which were splendidly concise, compact and affordable. And I closely studied ferry timetables and youth hostel year books.
The original idea had been a cycling holiday in France. In the s popular mind, a cycling holiday on the Continent was synonymous with a cycling holiday in France. It was something Brits had heard of but which few actually experienced or wanted to. It was generally viewed in much the same way as bungee jumping is today β an activity for intrepid people who are a bit odd. We noticed that France is very big and major towns are generally a long way from each other. So should we opt for the default French cycling tour or something else?
Whilst studying a school atlas, I noticed a neat and compact little country called Belgium. It had a fascinating history, closely linked to our own. In the north-west it had splendid world-class medieval art cities, conveniently only a few hours of cycling apart from each other and in flat countryside.
