As you cross the border into this innocuous, sleepy little market town you find yourself wondering what brought you here in the first place. You let your fingers brush the reeds that line the only road directly into Marsh Haven. A chill courses through your spine as the town rises up on the horizon. A concrete cacophony of houses, shops and civic buildings welcomes you with all the warmth of a fireless hearth. You stand stock still as a bearded skeletal man doffs his paper crown and shuffles past you with a weak, watery smile. You decide to stay awhile, determined to understand the towns enigmatic draw. You don’t know it yet, but strange things are about to happen.
Welcome to Marsh Haven
Welcome to Brits on Bikes.