Memories of the Tour de France (Yorkshire Style!)

Posted on September 17th, by Chris Morgan in Art, Poetry. No Comments

Memories of the Tour de France (Yorkshire Style!)

Back in July I had the rare pleasure

Of crossing them moors in the Yorkshire weather

A bike race, they said, was coming this way

They’d started in Leeds on the previous day

With my darling wife, her sister and mum

We set off for Holme Moss in the blazing sun

With sandwiches, flasks and cagoules in our bags

We passed houses bedecked with bunting and flags

Bikes painted yellow hung everywhere

You couldn’t help but stop and stare

We joined the gathering, merry throngs

As we walked up the hill singing songs

Bikes rushed past us of every description

Thousands of ‘em, all on a mission

Young and old they cycled together

Whole families with kids going hell for leather

From gazebo tents and makeshift stalls

Just beyond the drystone walls

Came the enthusiastic salesmen’s calls

“Bacon butties, sausage baps

And a free Yorkshire smile, how good is that!”

The atmosphere was electric

While the mix of folk was eclectic

There were five grand bikes with serious riders

And rusty old boneshakers but no one was mithered

That day the world pedalled as one

Underneath that rare Yourkshire sun

By roadside thistles we found a spot to sit and wait

With over 3 hours to go we knew we weren’t late

We sat and ate butties, anticipation was high

Then the support caravan came by

They were chucking out sweets and cheap cycling hats

But to be honest they were pretty crap

We soon saw helicopters in the valley below

Then we knew there wasn’t long to go

Soon enough they were all in sight

Pedalling up that hill with all their might

They were flying past in a blur, as one

And then, just as suddenly, they were gone,

Off they raced in the blink of an eye

Around the bend in the road, see you then, bye!






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