I cycled from Manchester to my grandparents in Devon when I was 16, almost 17. It took me three days, and I cycled 90 miles each day. I was on a Moulton Deluxe bicycle belonging to my mother, with tiny wheels, and designed for shopping. I carried everything: tent, camp bed, sleeping bag, cooking equipment, clothes and food. Looking back I was crazy. I borrowed masses of Ordnance Survey maps from Moss Side Library where I had a part time job, and chose the scenic route. I would cycle till dusk, find a field, pitch my tent, eat and sleep. Soon after dawn I would be off. I would knock on people's doors to fill up my water bottle. I remember cycling past Berkely Castle, shooting at great speed down a steep hill at Nempnett Thrubwell, and taking a short cut to crediton which involved pushing my bike up the steep hill at Cadbury Castle. Soon after Crediton I was rescued by my Uncle Phil who drove out to pick me up and save me the last 20 miles.
I haven't cycled much since then, except when we spent all our holidays at our cottage at La Chapelle St Laud in western France, and almost daily I would put Lili and Esther in my trailer and cycle to Malague for a swim. France was ideal for cycling: fairly flat, and little traffic.
And now I'm cycling again. It started at the end of the summer, when Brana and I would cycle each day after work. I was using the old Raleigh racing bike I bought locally second hand many years ago. recently I bought a beautiful Giant Peloton via eBay, and now cycle daily: 8 miles each way for work, and weekend outings.