In shameless lycra I send my racing bike up to Lith. The skipper comes to collect the toll. I am hungry and ask him where in the village the baker is. He points straight ahead into the village and says, “There’s a baker over there somewhere.” I seem to remember that the baker was further south, however, and keep asking. “Do you mean to the left of the square?” The ferryman shrugs his shoulders apologetically and says, “I don’t know. I’ll never get across.”
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A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of October 4, 2022