“It can get worse than this! No question!”
We had stopped by the abbey to talk to a cyclist taking a breather and, like us, seeking a little protection from the elements. He showed us the winding path that stretched around the ancient fortifications along the top of the cliff, towards Whitstable in one direction, Margate in the other.
“Are you are visitor?” I asked.
“No, no, I live here. Retired.” He waved his paw into the wind.
Retired or not, with his weather-beaten face divided by lemon specs, Spandex top and pants, and huge calves narrowing to tiny ankles, I could tell he was a serious biker.
“The going’s mostly flat, once you get up here. Got to watch for the wind, though!”
He waved, then rode off into the wind, prudently veering away from the cliff’s edge.
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