Let me take you on a woeful journey
though 'tis not very far
That goes past lovely airport yonder
via the three compasses bar.
Some will complete a geared one hundred
within five rounds of sixty
While others will self-flagellate
atop a rusty fixie.
Even more will dawdle and fill with beer
a tun or two of fond delay
And thus will struggle to complete
while still it reigns as day.
The sad completeists will do the required
and ride to it to and fro
While others will simply take fond hope
the trails be free of snow.
Sad, it's not even the day of Christmas
or even very near it yet
It's barely the beginning of the month
in which that day is set.
At one hundred clicks or thereabouts
'tis not even worth a solitary point
for that would severely put the audax committee's
noses out of joint.
So why oh why do we bother
to make this journey short
When all around us in slumbers
our partners snore and snort?
For high! 'Twill be fun (type two)
and good cheer without bound
That doth accompany us upon
our drear and pointless round.
So see you there good riding friends!
See you in the 'spoons
You merry band of gentlefolk
You craz'ed cycling loons.