I found your blog a couple of days ago and have spent quite a few hours reading. It's great writing. When I saw a picture of you I think I recognised you. It was Spring 05 and I was training for a 500 mile journey with my dog. I've always wanted to know what happened to him, and it's a long shot but I thought you might just know. He was near Tower Hill Tube. BLEEDING MAN! I was doing a late night mile or two when I saw a man on the pavement leaning against his bicycle. Dunno what, but something was wrong. "Are you alright?" "Ah just impaled my leg on my bike." He said in a soft slightly northern accent. The words didn't register, but as he turned to answer me I was struck by the black apron of blood from groin to ankle on his tan trousers. "AAAAAooH! OH My!" I never swear when genuinely shocked. I made some small talk while doing ambulance look-out for him. He was worried about all the work he had to do. "Don't worry, I had to take two weeks off for a minor op, and at the end of the first week I knew I was going to change my life around. (DON'T TAKE THE PRESSURE OFF IT!) It was wonderful. I'm going to ride through Spain and France. You'll be fine, the work won't matter so much." "It's my company." I hate that. You're really confident you can distract and reassure someone that everything will be fine and you say exactly the wrong thing. "I'll come with you." If only more people had that kind of clarity. "Do you like KEEP THE PRESSURE ON! dogs?" "Yeah." "Great." All settled. The ambulance arrived then. It must have been horrible waiting alone and he couldn’t believe that I was willing to wait with him. I hope I don't impale myself on anything.... and I hope that man gets better soon. It was one of those intense encounters that only a crisis can generate. If I do get impaled I am sure that people would help and I now know that Ella doesn't like blood. Very reassuring.