I’ve hinted in previous posts that the days of my Yellow Orrell bike were numbered. Sadly, it has gone to the bike rack in the sky to be recycled thanks to Andrew Millest’s ministrations. My farewell tribute follows:-
Adieu to the Yellow Peril
We’ve been cycling buddies for more than 10 years.
We’ve been through a lot as I’ve changed through the gears.
You’ve been there for me like a pal I could trust.
I’ve seen the real you through the muck and the rust.
There has been the odd time we’ve gone sep’rate ways
with me on the ground in a bit of a daze
and you ending up in a terrible tangle
mudguards askew, handlebars at an angle.
No fault of yours, chuck, just me being dim,
putting at risk precious bike, life and limb.
Like the time on LEJOG: out of Keswick we “clumb”
My bag caught Dave’s front brake and down we did come.
I’ve skidded on diesel, I’ve bounced on a rut,
escaped with abrasions, bruised hip, the odd cut.
Worse still, with back tyre and ego deflated,
my mates stood around and the outcome debated.
They know I’m quite useless with technical stuff.
Why’s everyone else a mechanical buff?
I’m the exception. I don’t have a clue
and when they’re all watching, I get in a stew.
It will still be great to get back on a bike,
ride quiet country lanes with Stan, Dave, Bill and Mike.
We’ll ride single file when there’s traffic about:
“Car back”; “Coming through”; and such like we will shout.
So as you go past us, allow us some room.
Old geezers might wobble and even Chris Froome
has come to grief in the peleton’s scramble.
Overtake on blind bend’s one hell of a gamble.
The guy on the Orrell may be a right pest.
Just give him a wide berth. He’s doing his best.
Yellow Peril, your steel frame has had its last ride.
No more will you roam with this rider astride.
Your crank shaft is shafted. You head into the sun
and your days on the roads are over and done.
It’s time to dismantle and take you apart.
As you’re recycled, there’s a place in my heart,
a hollow, a void. Call me sentimental,
but when we have cycled in downpours torrential
or baked under skies as in 2018,
saying “Goodbye” is so hard. It’s obscene.