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Thursday 2 August 2012

Poetic Injustice


Like Martin Luther King, I had a dream

But mine was to go to Belgium and boy was I keen

My bag was packed and the bike was built

And I jacked in my job, no feelings of guilt

A quick email and the Rayner Fund were on side

But come March and there was nowhere to hide

Queue the wind, wet and cold, or just leave it at grim

March rolled into April and still no signs of a win

May was looking up as I cracked that top 20

I raced every other day so opportunities were plenty

Then the highlight of the year as I rode to watch the tour

A great day out and a look at what I was aiming for

But from highs to lows as I took a tumble and broke my frame

I was battered and bruised, my head out the game

I remember the drive home, I wanted to cry like a baby

Even the radio couldn’t console me with a bit of ‘call me maybe’

But I got back on the spare bike and did what I could

But prize money never went far with Belgium’s Robin Hood

My final chance came in my only stage race of the year

The hiss of a puncture and I was out the rear

But I leave Belgium with no regrets… no wins either

 It’s in words not trophies that I’ll be remembered as a rider