Sunday was another beautiful day. Most of my roommates were visiting relatives or hiding out in the library.

My roommate, David, and I were watching a banal, Australian soap opera and trying to decide if it was worse than the British one that was coming up next. I’m pretty sure it was, but we didn’t stick around to find out.

What we did decide was that it was too nice a day to spend watching crap television.

We left the flat and headed for the quay. The city centre was packed with people, especially for a Sunday.

There were even tourists.

Everyone was getting their vitamin D rations.

We took a shortcut past the cathedral, which was also swarming with activity.

The close (a term I had always associated only with castles, but what do I know?) is the only substantial patch of grass for quite some distance.

Dogs and frisbees saw their first outdoor action of the season.

We met more dogs and more people when we got to the quay.

For those who don’t know, a quay (pronounced “key”) is a place, in Exeter’s case on a river, where ships can dock and unload their cargo.

This particular quay has been turned into a bit of a tourist trap, with trinket shops and antique galleries occupying the old warehouses along the river banks.

One of the warehouses is home to a bicycle shop, and the owner rents out some of his bikes for a few pounds a day. This was our destination.

Neither of us had been on a bike in years, and to be honest, the Canadian canoes for hire in the next shop down were vying for our attention.

The lazy, little River Ex would be no match for us.

David must have conquered many a mighty waterway in his native Quebec, and I for one had bested the Mississippi, at least the mile or so stretch between LeClaire, Iowa, and Rapids City, Ill., with only moderate soreness afterwards. It was not to be, however, and we were soon standing beside two newish 18-speed mountain bikes.

We both hesitated, waiting for the other to mount up and see if it really is true about not forgetting how to ride one of those things.

We agreed to go back into the shop and ask for a lock in case we decided to stop somewhere.

Returning to the bikes without anything else to delay ourselves with, I nervously hopped on. After a few wobbly churns, I got the pedaling thing down.

A little later, having nearly knocked a mother and her children into the river and onto the poor swan they were feeding, I remembered how to steer. I was good to go.

David guessed that by following the river we wouldn’t have to do any hills. That was fine by me. A half mile or so down the path, and we were out of the city. To the left there was the River Ex, and on the right were sheep.

Hordes of sheep. I couldn’t resist bleating at them, and they returned the greeting. “Baa,” they said. “Baa, it gets rather bumpy around the next bend,” they would have added were they the least bit inclined to be helpful.

As it was, we discovered this fact for ourselves. My ass was sore for days.

Another piece down the trail and we came upon an amazing pub/park/barbecue pit.

Hundreds of people buzzing around the main building, which housed the bar and the restaurant. They had come by bicycle, boat, car or on foot.

The kids splashed about in the river or ran with the many dogs in attendance while mom and dad drank with whomever happened to be sharing the picnic table.

It was the largest mix of people I’ve seen in one place since I left home. Transients who sleep on the street made breeding dates for their dogs with members of the refined countryside gentry. There was a hint of summer in the atmosphere. It felt good just to be there.

We wanted to see where the river would take us, though, so we got back on our bikes and continued downstream. We followed it to Topsham, where the river begins to open up into the Atlantic.

The city was on the other side and the only way across was by ferry. Unfortunately, the tide was ebbing and the water was too shallow for the boat to get us across. Topsham would have to wait for another day.

Heading back to Exeter, we passed the outdoor pub again. The barbecue had stopped production, but no one had gone home. I can only guess that the house brew kept people in their seats until late in the evening.

The bikes were due back at the quay by 5:30 p.m., so we had to make good time. Otherwise, we may well have joined them.

For the last week now, a certain Queen song about bicycles has been running through my head.

---

Chris Crouch is a sophomore in political science from Rapids City, Ill.