I WAS driving towards Five Oaks recently, in the drizzle, in my large car, when a cyclist slowed my progress to a miserable 20mph. At the first opportunity I overtook him. Within a minute yet another cyclist impeded my progress; the woman on the bike was indeed pedalling as fast as she could, but she nevertheless forced me to slow. Finally, somewhat exasperated, I seized a chance to pass her. Within minutes I had to slow again. But this time it was for the queue of cars at the roundabout at Five Oaks.

I ground to a halt. It continued to drizzle. Both cyclists passed by me.

I considered this situation.

Both these cyclists were emitting no noise, no pollution. Their obvious level of fitness was evidently equipping them for a longer, healthy working life. They would be paying taxes long after I had quit, nursing my heart and lung problems brought on by my obesity.

This was some months ago.

I decided to act.

I couldn’t see me cycling from St Martin into town and back again without a seizure, so I bought an electric bicycle. It was a revelation.

The power gave me just enough assistance to get me back up the hill on the way home. Each journey, despite the cars and lorries, has left me feeling energised.

I see the electric bike as a stepping stone to a standard bike. I have lost a stone.

I thought your readers might like to know about my journey.

Highland, Rue des Alleurs, Rozel.