Make no mistake, this is not a pastime for the timid. A penny farthing stands a good two and a half metres high, which is uncomfortably close to the altitude at which one requires oxygen. Steering the thing is like trying to turn a wardrobe with handlebars, and falling off, which happens frequently, is about as much fun as being thrown from a small horse onto gravel. The machines have no gears, so riders must heave themselves up hills and then hurl themselves down the other side with all the control of a runaway wardrobe.

And yet, there is a peculiar joy in it all. For these enthusiasts, perched aloft like Victorian gentlemen about to cycle into a Punch cartoon, the thrill outweighs the bruises. Against all logic, they are keeping alive one of the most impractical yet oddly wonderful inventions Britain ever produced.

(Direktlink)