Route: WP, Horrabridge, Greg's leap, Jame's single track, Double Waters, Grenofen Bridge, Langstone, HQ.
Date: Tuesday 20th December 2011
Riders: Keith, Paddy, Julian & Martyn
Depart WP: 19:50
Arrive HQ: 10:10
Distance: not far
Weather: Wet but mild

The children were nestled in front of the TV,
Apparently 'Splatalot' is very giggly.
Mamma was doing ironing, a task I didn't care for,
Household chores are not something Tuesday nights were designed for.

Up to Willoughby Park in the cool evening air,
With hopes that the Gentlemen still would be there.
Paddy in his baggies and Keith in his Lycra,
We were a sight for sore eyes for some sex-starved girl biker.

All at once from the skies there fell some soft drizzle,
It seemed that tonight we'd end up wet and mis'ble.
Then along came young Julian with his freewheel so clicky,
Who soon led us off, though navigation was tricky.

Down through the woods we all bounded,
Along a path that we made up rather than founded,
Grenofen, long term, was our destination,
But we went via Old Horrabridge Station.

Up onto the wild moor or Langstone we hacked,
Following Paddy's suggestion of a 'nice little track'.
By now the rain was pouring and the grass was very slippy,
Not even winter tyres proved very grippy.

The problem with not knowing quite where you are,
Is that you often the wrong way, often quite far,
So it was with us, and soon we doubled back,
Before beginning a descent on a very slimy track.

This track it seemed set the tone for the night,
With a nasty camber and a grip that was ... awful.
And so it came to pass that Paddy went flying,
And just missed a tree, though it wasn't through lack of trying.

A sore shin ensued but worse alas! alack!,
His light bracket was buggered, he'd have to go back.
Now I'm not suggesting anything, no devious plan,
But missing the rest of the ride? Lucky man.

The remaining three followed Paddy's directing arm,
Slipping and sliding, we must soon come to harm.
The next hour or so entailed lots of scooting,
One foot on a pedal, downhill we were shooting.

It wasn't some much muddy, more like a quagmire,
It made no difference if we lower or higher.
Keith did a 180, with a half twist for free,
I prevented a fall by judicious use of a tree.

The path, if you could call it that, meandered around,
Sometimes merely indistinct, mostly unfound,
Yet somehow Julian led us out to find,
Despite the time, not many miles lay behind.

We joined another path, down to water's double,
Where we hoped it'd be easier, no more trouble.
But of course being rainy, it was no easy hit,
It was like pedalling through large amounts of cow pat.

To Grenofen Bridge, we eventually arrived,
But a short route home needed to be contrived.
We pushed up the rocky road, up to Langstone,
A trip across down the road and we'd soon be home.

The last bits are a mystery I can't tell as it was all afog,
Julian went the wrong way and all 'cos of the smog.
My stomach was empty, my legs gone I fear,
What I desperately needed was a nice pint of beer.

To those who weren't there, I'd just like to cry,
'You missed a great one!', but that would be a lie.
You missed mud and that's it but before I take flight,
I'll say "Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!".

Reporter: Martyn