Folklora was born the afternoon the shadow of a large raptor inked out the sun for a moment and we held a firm grip onto the ankles of our two-year-old girl sat on my shoulders in case she was carried off into the mist. Panic over, we bought ice creams, soaked in the view over the Col du Soulor and talked of a band of cycling outlaws trying to do some good in this mysterious world. Time passed, cities swapped and now time grasped to actually put ideas into action.