Dear Sir David Brailsford

I was down in pub wi me son last night he's a right big fan a yours
Tells me there's some trouble brewing wi route of this years tour
He said to me dear Fatha you've done it, seen it all
There's cobbles causing concern can you give Sir Dave a call
 
I know in pursuit of perfection you leave no stone unturned
I'd like to offer an 'elping hand me knowledge is well earned
Preparing blokes wi bicyles, usin' right propper wheels that's round
It's about Planning layin foundations preparin' winning ground
 
Which is 'andy with them cobbles I'll need somehow to turn em smooth
To keep Geraint and Chris Froome in front and on the move
You see I've always rode to bakery, to go deliver t bread
I've learned to conquer cobbles, I'm an expert its been said
 
I am very scientific me, when there's trouble down at Mill
I'll bring an innovation then bugger off up ill 
If there's any other problem like a spool missing from treddle
I'll fix that too don't worry before I go and pedal 

It's a fine line makes the difference between first and second place
I can help wi' preparation if TeamSky's to win this race.
It can be oh so technical, it's also in the mind
Especially when there's cobbled streets It can be such a grind

I know them cobbles are tricky,  to stay upright's a fight
Them cobbles are right tricky and I acknowledge Froomey's fright
For sixty years I've rode round here, just once I had a spill
When Mary from the Bakery, she walked on t cobbled hill

For me this was a turning point I was young and cycling slow
On't cobbled streets it's dangerous don't go too fast tha knows 
I applied sufficient pressure to me brakes both front and back
Me front wheel caught a cobble and I hit ground with a smack

But Mary was on hand to help mop my bloodied brow
To tell me, "Watch them cobbles lad" (I wish we'd married now!)
She told me see them cobbles imagine bubbles full of air
You'll be carried you'be lifted like on a set of Stannah stairs

Ensure you're in survival mode other lads won't feel the same
But you will burst their bubbles lad and they'll feel all the pain.
I still float across them cobbles and deliver bread on t bike
Though Mary is not with us she had to take a hike

I've overcome cobbles challenge, it wa' bubbles that saw me through
I called it Cobbles Conquered It'll work for Teamsky too
So Sir David I'm available if you'd like some of my psychology
I can help wi teams nutrition too, a slice o bread wi Tea

So if you're in the area and need a little Yorkshire nouse
You will all be very welcome to pop around me house
To talk about a strategy drink tea in my front room
Aye and bring Geraint with you and last years winner Froome

The kettle will be boiling, Yorkshire tea brewing in the pot
The fire will be stoked up it'll be cosy for you lot.
They say there is no I in TEAM and I know the reason why
Is there room for ME A(n') T(ea) in next season's TeamSky?

Giro Training TeamSky

Change those gears drop those cogs
Pedal like those cycling gods
Nero fiddles while Rome burns
Thighs on fire wheels just turn

Chain set cadence tempo high
Spin it out the end is nigh
Power pedals power cranks
Power zones you've trained with thanks

Balanced structured progressive load
Training active recovery mode
Intensity built from base to top
Heart rate monitored race to stop

Endurance tempo lactate threshold
Cycling fitness will unfold
Be Cycling Caelus gods of sky
Come on Team it's time to fly 

 

Giro Italia Team Sky

As you saddle up your works of art
Grande Partenza or your Big Start
Prepare for vistas prepare for views
Oh lead us on you mystic muse. 

Take on montagna or small collina 
Routes designed and rides to free you
Challenges in countryside
Or Adriatica the place to ride

Golden sands or mountains green
Steep ascents or rolling free
Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo
On Dogma steeds, ride fine fellows

Versace, Dolce and Armani 
Sing operatic chorus of Puccini
Or Verdi, Bellini and Rossini
Someliers drink in the famous vini

Grigio, Chianti taste Barolo
Ride Pesco Sannita to Gran Sasso
From Penne to Gualdo Tadino
Assisi, St Francis ride Osimo

From Umbro through Marchean Appenines
Muri with its punchy climbs
Be Cycling Caelus gods of Sky
Come on Team it's time to fly! 

Chamois Cream

Yorkshire Lass Sportive few days to go
Lycra legs supple, subtle on show.
7 days and counting, tension mounting...
On hide toughened backside I am counting!

Come on ladies get ready for the roar,
But be prepared for the saddle sore.
Soothing words from your Doctor uttered,
Make sure you've packed your bottom butter!

Rasping, chaffing on softest skin;
This is the place where it does begin.
Start at the bottom, helps you rise to the top,
Firm foundations, makes sure you won't stop.

Don't want you falling, flat on your face
Having to pull out of this magnificent race.
Turning your training into one big farce
Because you forgot to look after your arse!

Left cheek, right cheek you could turn the other
But come on sisters, come on mothers,
A word of advice, it doesn't get easier
Look after your asset, your prized posterior

Here's to the ladies preparation done
Yorkshire beckons riding miles in the sun
Banter and hard work - now live your dream
But don't forget the Chamois Cream!

Hill Climbs

Steep sierras, these mountains treat them with disdain,
Incline, hill sides, why this choice of bloody pain?
Piles, peaks, humps; grumpy, I'll call them what I like.
I'll climb them on my trusty bike;
No escape from these escarpments.
These peaks, their precipice, the valleys steep,
The ridges, ascending how I'll creep;
Seeming never ending.
Review approach, at altitude add attitude, 
Remember, meander use the camber!
Perspire, rise higher, gruelling, Mountain Fuel refueling, 
Energy in abundance, most gears are now redundant.
No let up, no respite, as I fight tired respiration.
Fired legs, fired belly makes for perspiration,

But with essential rehydration, dedication to elevations,
Elation!  Another peak conquest.
No time for rest, another battle beckons!
Remember Yorkshire Lasses. Best!

Prudential Ride 100 Giggs Hill Green Hub

Kings of bouncy castle, Kings of the roads,
Heading to Kingston, oh how they rode!
Thousands on thousands, cyclists came in their droves?
Brothers & sisters sharing the load.

Unsure on the weather, Giggs Hill Hub on the green,
The rain of last evening; may need submarine!
Fairground attractions, kept weather at bay,
The sound of the cycling swept rain drops away.

Hum of those wheels, those tiring legs wind,
Finding the respite, now hills left behind;
Beating of drums, or pans, kitchen sinks,
Waving those flags, on Green glasses chink,

Reasons for riding emblazoned on chests,
Hearts of inspiring, if needing a rest.
Floods of sweat, tears; all the changing of gears,
Steering to London? In sight now it nears!

Pink Princess Alice Hospice with white battle bus,
Creating the music, information and stuff,
Local bands playing , entertaining the crowds,
Cheering the throng, full voice and out loud!

Enjoyment for all, selling beer and some grub,
Treasure hunt action in Giggs Hill Green Hub;
Come and get tattoos they're just 50p,
Or play 5-a-side with Esher FC!

Standing, tiered seating a glance at the fleeting,
Professionals race by, what a rhythm they're beating,
The whoosh of the wheels, a clean pair of heels,
With wind in their faces, we know how it feels!

Gone in a flash the day it is done
And thankfully at last some late evening sun,
To all those who came to will those wheels round
Thank you and hopefully we raised healing pounds!

Yorkshire Lass CC

If you've been inspired by t Olympics
On velodrome or road
Get on your bike and join us chicks
Cycling's so in vogue

You don't have to be Lizzie Armistead
A bike is all you need
Come on girls get out of bed
Escape how you'll be freed

Take part without the scowls
Mamils please move out the way
Make way for us the Owls
Old blokes you've had your day

Riding out from Wetherby
Exercise the bike and mind
Such views and fine Dales revelry
Hidden treasures for you to find

And if the thought of lycra
Your enthusiasm it crops
Theres a team of lovely lady Tykes
To encourage with tea stops!

Feel free to come and join us
On sportives or gentle rides
Its fun without a lot of fuss
We're like the new girl guides!

Yorkshire Spirit Sportive

Like Boudiccas on bicycles,
Jovial Joan of Arcs!
I'm sure it is advisable,
To Yorkshire! On your marks!

Your personal Norman conquests,
Own Battles of Agincourt;
Together you will give your best,
With this quest for more.

A thirst for Thirsk, own Waterloos,
The spirit of Dunkirk,
Resilience of our QE2,
You grafters will not shirk!

Cameraderie built upon 2 wheels,
Earning spurs to encourage on,
Wills of iron and Sheffield steel,
I hope with the odd song!

Now all be crowned Queens of the road,
Competitive streaks at stake,
Honesty's policy within our souls:
We'll be serving tea n cakes!

Tour De Yorkshire

I've sent my whippets to Walthamstow,

Pigeons to Trafalgar Square;
My front lawn needs a cut and mow,

My canaries could do with care!

Old hobbies are being neglected,

In favour of something new;

My shed's full of bikes selected,

To keep fit and healthy too.

No garden forks, just carbon forks,

As well as my lycra kit;

Leads to some with eyes on stalks

Come on this is it!

Since Harry left his Guiseley place,

There's no more fish and chips;
Said goodbye to newspaper plates,

Isotonic drinks one sips!

Farewell flat cap it's now a kask
Since Dickie Bird last raised his finger
Why at last is this you ask
There's change, no time to linger

Out with roast and Yorkshire puds

Now protein shakes and gels
Said farewell to roast for good
It's them that belly swells

It's cycling that inspires for sure,

The County's Grand depart;

Beginning of Le Tour de Yorkshire

It's the start to race the heart.

There's no more grim inscriptions,

On dark satanic mills;
Just beautiful descriptions,

Of Yorkshire's Dales and Hills!

Cycling's now set out its stall,

Built a bright new Yorkshire brand
That's as sturdy as them dry stone walls

That adorn the county's land.

To the people of Yorkshire who aided

A toast! With Tea in hand!

And of course we'll be serenaded

by  Brighouse & Rastrick Band!

Tour de Yorkshire

I used to go to bakery, I used to walk for 't bread,
But I don't like walking anymore, I like to ride me bike instead.
Since they told us o Tour de Yorkshire, God's own county's Grand Depart,
Well I dusted off me tricycle, now where is the start?
I've begun me preparation they'll need me for the race
Although I'll have to do more practising if I'm to set the pace.
It's bloody hilly round here and full of cobbled streets
At my age they say no cycling I should stick to my two feet;
I need a risk assessment? Nay lad I'll be reet,
I'm ready and I'm able I will have them beat.

I'm sure the other residents they look at me and frown,
As they see me struggle up them hills, they see me racing down.
It's a bugger goin up them hills, like our finest Grand Old Duke
And them cobbles when I'm going down, well they shake me till I puke.
I've had to buy more Fix-o-dent to keep me teeth in t' face
Them cobbles are right bleeders and t teeth chatter out of place.
I hope my brakes will hold out when I come down wi' me bread
I dont want a wreath wi' teeth in saying the silly buggers bled.
He should have walked to bakery and left that bike in shed

If he'd have left it t' professionals he wouldn't end up dead!

Thank you to the Tearooms of the National Trust

Autumn's age approaching,
Its time to make the best;
So I've taken now to bicycling
And its giving me new zest.

I maybe Lycra clad,
But still got some hair and graces,
Please don't think me sad,
Like to ride to favourite places.

I'm Strava'd up, don't stop me,
Got new Virtual friends,
Like a big kid on my Chopper,
Childhood never ends.

Head off towards the Surrey Hills,
On the elixir of youth,
Keeping Autumn light from spills?
Am I too long in the tooth?

Receding hairline shrouded,
In helmet's mist of time.
My lycra's overcrowded,
Can't hide autumnal lines.

If I'm tiring as I pedal,
Know there's one treat just for me.
Better than any gold medal,
it's the thought of a pot of tea.

A goal that keeps me going,
My disappearing aches,
As I weave with to and froing,
It's that treat of tea and cakes!

So keep those pedals circling,
Like vultures in the sky,
Soon I shall be hurtling,
Into  tea and apple pie.

On the hillside debris strewn,
Of broken hopes and dreams.
In need of NT tea room,
The jam, the scones, the screams!

Leith Hill and Box Hill inclines,
Newlands Corner's place of rest,
For weary legs, big waistlines
Of the new cycling obsessed.

Revived with cups of tea
After my gut has just been bust,
Releasing me to cycle free,
Thanks to the National Trust!

On the hillside debris strewn
Of broken hopes and dreams
In need of NT tea room
The jam, the scones, the screams!

Thank you tearoom finery,
You will get us home,
On our new fangled machinery
And our freshly creaking bones,

So thank you to the tearooms,
We will make it, just!
Oh thank you to the tearooms
Of the fabulous National Trust!

I Blame Bradley Wiggins - the MAMIL

The husband who has reached that ripe old age and likes to fill his lycra and the Surrey hills with the Help of Kingston Borough Council. Inspired of course by one man.....

My missus is quite angry, she thinks I've gone quite mad,

Since Sir Bradley won the tour you see, cycling’s been me fad.

So I worship Bradley Wiggins, where's the harm in that?

And I love donning the Lycra she says that I look like a prat.

Though the outfit isn't flattering, can't hide my mid-life spread,

I'm trying to reduce my paunch a bit before I end up dead.

Life revolves around my bicycle, use Kingston’s cycle paths.

No more need for motor cars, now see how I laugh!

She doesn't understand my pain, she knows not of my plight.

It’s called a mid-life crisis, all I want’s to ride my bike.

She needs to count her chickens, don't want a new Thai bride,

All I wants to mount my bike and just go out and ride!

It's a crisis, it's my mid-life, it's austerity

I've taken to the cycling which is much more fun for free.

With the blue skies and the scenery in those Surrey Hills,

Means getting lots of exercise and cutting down on pills.

So Sir Bradley, I am trying, to stay within your wake,

The mutterings of my lady wife, how much can I take?

I'll follow how you're doing in the time trial and the tours

And continue with me cycling risking wrath of her indoors.

And now Kingston Council have banned cars from the road

I can cycle up the Portsmouth Road to my home abode

People think I’m crazy they’re putting up their banners

But it really isn’t me that’s mad. It’s Kingston Borough’s Town Planners!

I Blame Bradley Wiggins - the poor long suffering, caring wife

A man reaches an age where sore feet stop him from pounding the streets, and the allure of lycra becomes too much. Oh yes and the inspiration of 1 man and the worries it causes his long suffering wife...

In 2012 my husband changed, the thought just makes me wince,
He's still a loving husband, but has been strange ever since
And if I cast my mind back to that year in July,
I recollect it started with a scream and cheerful cry
When I luked into the lounge to see the cause of the commotion,
He was staring at the telly with a look of pouels devotion;
The screen shone a bright yellow, like my kitchen top formica,
There was a man on bike with side-burns wearing figure hugging Lycra.
You see Bradley, he had triumphed, in the cycling Tour de France
Since then you see my husband's, been in this sort of trance.

Then in early August, things started to get worse
When watching the Olympics, I think that was the curse.
It wasn't the flag waving or cheering any British folks,
It happened at the cycling and was caused by this one bloke.

Well the affect that it has had on him, well he hasn't been the same;
The only thing I think of that Bradley is to blame,
You see he started talking language, that I don't understand
Of hubs, derailleur, gear sets, don't think it's under hand
He garbled about cadence and the peleton
He chuntered in this language, what was my fella on?

His bike thats what me fella's on, cycling everywhere
I don't mind when he is on it, but it's that extra facial hair
And the thing that really worries me and causes heads to turn
Is the style of his new clothing along with those sideburns;
It's the fact he wears tight lycra, oh my god it's such a site.
If only he would wear it when he's riding on his bike.

When Bradley missed the tour last year, I thought I michal just get him back
He'd forget about the lycra and wear his Marks and Spencers slacks
But it seems my wishful thinking, well it happened just too soon
He's now got an obsession with another bloke called Froome
And any chance of him returning,  well there definitely aint
He gallivants in his lycra and says call me Geraint!