Date: Tuesday 12th October 2010
Route: Inside A386, Bickleigh, Railway, Cann, Tramway, Wotter, Trig Point, Clay Pits, HQ.
Riders: James, Nick, Stephen, Paul, Keith, Paddy, Colin, Sam, Steve & James.
Depart: 19:40
Arive HQ: 22:00
Distance: 19 miles
Weather: Dry & windy.

A Grand Night Out

It were already gettin’ dark as the lads they met up,
In lycra shorts they was clad,
Ten of them brave souls headed for t’moor,
The weather, for once, weren’t too bad.

From HQ t’wards Roboro’ we headed,
Via path along edge of t’golf course,
We tagged behind Meister and young whippet Sam,
Dodging through bracken and all that sharp gorse.

Most haven’t seen t’greens at nighttime before,
But tonight we got close up view,
So sorry about the tyre tracks we left,
I’m sure they’ll rake out, not leave a clue.

Steve were obviously feeling off colour,
As into a tree his bike he did toss
There were also one point when he waited for us,
Either that or he were a little bit lost.

Down past barracks and onto t’old railway,
On smooth tarmac we pootled along,
Under the bridge, up into Cann Woods,
Cycled us, the Willowby throng.

Now, I don’t wish to cast no nasturtiums,
Point t’finger of blame at anyone, no.
But it seemed that there now proceeded to be,
Great deliberations about which way to go.

Steve B remarked that ten years ago,
There’d been a path that went somewhere down’ill,
James had ideas of bombholes and such,
Meister had other ideas still.

As can be ‘magined, with such conflagration,
And discussions going to and fro,
We didn’t exactly get very far,
With noone knowing quite where to go.

After messin’ about in t’woods for a while,
Having gone down far less than gone up,
We headed off on t’tramway,
To t’place where the mine that clay muck.

A scramble and walk through woods there,
Saw us on to t’Wotter road rise,
From there we could see a blood-red crescent moon,
A rare sight for our marvelling eyes.

Up to trig point we now set our noses,
A grassy climb, quite a grind.
It were windy as well on the hilltop,
A path down we needed to find.

Paddy took on t’navigation task,
Downhill he took us too far, for a play,
He tried to take us down into t’mine
Quick shout “Tha’s going wrong way!”

From Yelverton, wafting on t’breeze,
Came a smell, it were calling us back,
It were Jail, Legend or some other beer,
It were time to get back on track.

It’s amazing how a pint can spur on old legs,
And bring a young man out of an old,
We blasted down hills towards the Rock,
Bringing us in from out of the cold.

A lovely ride out with the fellas,
Nineteen miles seeming just right,
I’m sure I’ll be seeing thee next week,
For another Willowby Park Gran Night.

Reporter: Martyn
See Albert and the Lion

President's Footnote: As always, there was another new experience for me this evening. This time it was hearing an off without seeing it! In Cann Wood Nick & I were waiting outside the trees when we heard this almighty thud, followed by silence, sniggering, then finally someone uttering the words 'you alright Paddy'!!!!