Molly out for the count; Granny Dew bringing up the rear

Well, here we are – three generations cycling around the exotic delights of the Isle of Wight on two bikes.

Top of the chronological scale comes Granny Dew who, perched at the right side of 80 (but only just), is amazing the younger members of the fleet by managing to cycle up the majority of the island’s multiple hills.

Next in years comes me, and though I may be roughly half the age of Gran, I am struggling to travel at anything other than the speed of a snail in labour. This ponderous pace I put down to being attached to four panniers and two-stone but-not-yet-two (1¾ to be precise)-year-old Molly who sits aloft in her reclining seat on my rear rack.

Progress is anything but swift: my back seat cyclist is adamant that no playground, duck pond, farmyard, field of sheep, cattle, horses or pigs can be passed without stopping for a session of detailed analysis. On the many and varied occasions that I have tried to accelerate by these numerous diversions in the faint hope she doesn’t notice, an urgent ‘Aaaaah! Aaaaah!’ is heard emanating from behind and I am forced to bring my unwieldy load to a shuddering halt in order for a playground to be played upon or for a field full of gambolling, ruminating or manuring livestock to be observed at close quarters.

At this rate we’ll be lucky to make it home before Christmas.

Molly keeping up her fluids on a much-needed pub stop