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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