No One Said it Would be Easy - Molloy, Des
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An outrageous sortie on a pre-war BSA and two obscure, obsolete Yorkshire-made, single-cylinder Panther motorbikes. Poorly funded, with little planning, the ride depends on good luck, blind loyalty and terminal optimism. The struggle is managed with a youthful naivety. This is a recollection of a youth well-spent. Love and adventure are in the air with every chapter a precarious adventure. "I was parched and scarcely able to breathe but I pushed and shoved and swore, screamed, yelled and cried and somehow I got Penelope up that bloody hill and struggled on until I could see the brick outpost…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
An outrageous sortie on a pre-war BSA and two obscure, obsolete Yorkshire-made, single-cylinder Panther motorbikes. Poorly funded, with little planning, the ride depends on good luck, blind loyalty and terminal optimism. The struggle is managed with a youthful naivety. This is a recollection of a youth well-spent. Love and adventure are in the air with every chapter a precarious adventure. "I was parched and scarcely able to breathe but I pushed and shoved and swore, screamed, yelled and cried and somehow I got Penelope up that bloody hill and struggled on until I could see the brick outpost over a sand dune. In the last 20 yards I bogged down again, and so leaving Penelope upright in the sand I staggered in, to the amazement of the soldiers. I beg for water"
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Autorenporträt
A dreamer and schemer. Maybe mum was right when she used to describe me as a 'little Walter Mitty' - a fictional character of James Thurber. I laugh when now as an adult I can reference authorities like the American Heritage Dictionary and find Walter Mitty noted as 'an ordinary, often ineffectual person who indulges in fantastic daydreams of personal triumphs.' In my childhood I'd not enjoyed the Danny Kaye movie portrayal and thought mum's description was mean and a little demeaning, even though she always said it with a smile on her dial. Now I would wear it as a badge of honour.More Bill Bryson than Robert Pirsig, I enjoy sharing my adventures with others. I come from a line of raconteurs who loved a fireside yarn and I humbly endeavour to continue this affliction for the generations who follow.