Simons Challenge 2001 Poem
  
Challenge Ride 2001

There'd been movement 'round the nation,
When the word had got about,
That a Challenge ride to Sydney had been planned,
When the cream of Aussie cyclists,
Put their entries in the mail,
Phil knew he had a winner on his hands.

Some were middle aged and paunchy,
Some were young - and some quite old,
Some wore Lycra that was straining at the seams,
When they heard about Euroa,
Being famous for its sheep,
A group of hardy Kiwis joined the team.

And one was there amongst them,
With 'Bandidos' on his knicks,
With beard snowy white and shiny pate,
But he had a look about him,
That said "Son - just watch me climb,
When we get up to those mountains - see you mate"

So we met at the Museum,
And the atmosphere was tense,
As we pondered where we'd rather be instead,
Then Phil picked up his bullshorn,
And everyone relaxed,
' cause no-one understood a word he said.

Now there were Cannondales aplenty,
Giants, Trek and some Avantis,
A few were riding Porsches (that they flaunted),
While others stood with mountain bikes,
Their triple cranks agleam,
As they gazed out on the speedsters quite undaunted.

So we posed for the team photo,
And sucked in all our abs,
At last, 10 minutes late - and we're away,
Someone punctured in a minute,
Someone fell off at the lights,
Was it really going to be that kind of day?

Now we'd all looked at the day sheets,
Back at home - safe in our beds,
And day five looked a shocker - no mistake,
But at least we saw the first day,
Would be comfortable and flat,
With just a gentle roll up past Kinglake!

Just a cruise up to the top,
Of Mount Merton on Day Two,
As we headed left - young Graham headed right,
'though he made a good attempt,
He proved to one and all,
Man wasn't built for unassisted flight.

Day Three dawned bright and clear,
But a taste of things to come,
Nicki's bowels were acting quite outrageous,
As we tucked into our cells,
Up high in Beechworth's loony bin,
We thought - with luck, it's prob'ly not contagious.

Day Four and we were off,
Past the mighty Murray River,
To Corryong - a town that's really special,
Where the water in the taps,
All runs a thick and muddy brown,
And the pub walls prove the locals are all feral.

Day Five and we'd been waiting,
For the chance to show our stuff,
Tom Groggin - all the way up to the top,
As Papa Smurf stormed past,
We just gazed at him aghast,
As our speedos said we'd almost reached a stop.

At just 6k per hour,
We did our mental sums,
And worked out how much more to Dead Horse Gap,
When at last it came in sight,
We could think of nothing more,
Than shower, massage, Asprin - and a nap.


"You've really all done very well",
Said Phil at breakfast time,
And it really isn't very cold outside,
"Just watch out for the reindeer,
And the polar bears I guess,
Oh and good luck getting down the mountainside"

Past the stringbarks and snowgums,
O'er the rough and icy road,
Down the hillside at a breakneck pace we went,
And we never pulled our brakes on,
'cause we couldn't feel our hands,
'till the bottom of that terrible descent.

Then on we rolled to Canberra,
The wind was in our face,
And the flat bits on the map had lots of hills,
But worse to come that night,
Quite a few did not feel right,
With exploding bowels, the vomiting and chills.

Day Seven and the Plague Bus,
Was full up to the brim,
With faces pale and features full of gloom,
"Just run the slow ones over, Bram,
Or pick them up at least,
But please just get us all to Bundanoon"

That was the day that Greg fell off,
And briefly was knocked out,
Some thought, perhaps he'd passed out from the strain,
But it seems his double cycling knicks,
Had been on much too tight,
And cut off all the blood flow to his brain.

Day Eight and things looked better,
For most of us at least,
Though some were still succumbing to the trots,
As we fought with ancient plumbing,
In our chilly hotel rooms,
There's two taps here, but neither one is hot.
"Police have banned us riding down,
The pass tomorrow morn',
On this I really have to be explicit",
Why, Phil had made it sound such fun,
Many had to make the run,
And loved it more because it was illicit.

And then we had our final night,
A wonderful affair,
With Peter handing 'round his typed up sheets,
After joining in his song,
Did we dare to join the throng,
In the bar, who'd heard it all with disbelief?

So now, at last it's over,
But for many years to come,
At any given chance we'll just remark,
(As our friends' eyes glaze with boredom),
"Let me tell you once again,
'bout the time we rode to Sydney - for a lark"


To view the latest pics, go to :
http://au.oocities.com/bbchallenge2001/index.html

Foe the Bandits Mega site :

http://www.baysidebandidos.com