A COUPLE of days ago I was walking along a country lane in the Dales when a trim figure in lycra came into view on a swish-looking bicycle.

To my surprise he stopped to say hello. It turned out he was someone I knew when I worked as a journalist in the area, many moons ago. He said he rode every day, training for doing an overseas route later in the year.

"It's part of the Tour de France," he explained. I was impressed; that meant something, even to a non-cyclist. "Well, I'm 65," he continued. "I thought it was now or never."

"Quite right too," I replied, rather numbly, as he sped off.

That same weekend, my parents' next-door neighbour, a man who passed his 70th birthday a few years ago, was occupying his twilight years acting as an official observer to the presidential elections in the former Soviet republic of Georgia. I've never been to Georgia, but people who have assure me it's quite an experience. Suffice it to say, I reckon ensuring free and fair elections in the country that spawned Joseph Stalin is a bit of challenge.

These two are not alone in refusing to let age narrow their horizons. The world of popular music has shifted somewhat from the days when the slogan was "I hope I die before I get old". One of the biggest live events of last year was Led Zeppelin's comeback in London; Jagger and Richards are still strutting their stuff; and Sir Paul McCartney is not only still producing music and duetting with Kylie, his private life is being splashed across the tabloids in a way it never was in his youth.

It's not just men in the public eye who are possessed of grey power. Look at Dame Judi, or Helen Mirren - and, of course, the woman Mirren impersonated to get her Oscar, our own dear Queen.

Here is the great paradox of our ageing nation. You have people who have passed retirement age who are cycling the route of the Tour de France or keeping the wheels of democracy turning, and yet we are also told the number of older people in the population is crippling the NHS and threatening a crisis in the welfare state.

Of course, not everyone who reaches the age of 65 is in a fit state to take on lots of new challenges. A whole range of factors can wear people down - being born in poverty, doing back-breaking physical work, and incurring self-inflicted wounds through addictions such as booze, drugs or smoking, to name but a few. They may simply be unlucky with ill-health or accidents.

My two elder adventurers, so far as I know, have suffered none of the above disadvantages.

Interestingly, both men also gave up their nine-to-five jobs quite a few years ago. Yet, we are now being told most of us may have to work well past the age of 65 to ensure we have enough cash to survive our prolonged lives in some form of comfort. This strikes me as a typical accountant's argument, which puts cash considerations first and ignores the need for balance in our society.

Okay, some people love their work and should be allowed to carry on as long as makes sense. But some people simply aren't up to carrying that burden into old age. Others need releasing so they can do more positive things, whether for themselves or others. After all, just who is going to make sure elections are run properly in fledgling democracies if all our energetic oldies are tied to the workplace until they're truly past it?


* Speaking of Sir Paul, I once rated Lennon ahead of him, but gradually came to realise that, despite producing some duff material following the creativity of the 1960s and 70s, McCartney had a genuine place in music's pantheon.

Some years ago, I was being driven through Jordan in a vehicle with five Arabs, at least one of whom didn't speak any English at all. There was an oppressive silence, until the driver switched on the radio, and got Voice Of America doing a tribute to The Beatles.

A few, familiar guitar notes played, there was a collective intake of breath, and suddenly five Arabs and yours truly joined in with: "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away"

We all kept going to the end. It wasn't the greatest sound ever, but boy, was it heartfelt.