Date: Tuesday 8th May 2012
Route: WP, Horrabridge, Gem Bridge, Tunnel, Grenofen, Julian's Loop, Bast**d Hill, Grenofen Bridge, Magpie, Railway, HQ.
Riders: Keith, Paddy, Stephen, James, Julian, Gidon, Colin, Dan, Martyn, Sam & Paul (the II).
Depart WP: 19:40
Arrive HQ: 10:00
Distance: 12 miles
Weather: Damp but mild

The report in the style of 1930’s detective novels. Read under an angle poise lamp, sipping bourbon, wearing a mac, a fedora and a sharp suit.

It was a damp night. The sort of night when men got sweaty and women got hot. That’s when I got the mail. ‘Meet us at the cattle grid at 7:45pm.’ It was an invite that would change all our lives -forever.

We met, ten old hands and a new guy by the name of Paul. That’s what he called himself anyways. We called him Paul. Once the boys had tooled up we headed out – down the trail, Drake’s Trail. It was wet under tyre. Slippery and not in a good way.

Getting to the bridge helped to lift the mood. The views were spectacular, the bridge was high and the photo got my good side.

The next section was not so good. Deep mud, big holes and wet. The Pres took a tumble. He stained his shorts and not in a good way either. The tunnel loomed before us. Dark and foreboding like a hump on a grumpy camel. The stories of this place read like an Edgar Allen Poe story. Death, tragedy and a haunting. Screams had been heard, a presence felt and a lingering smell pervaded the area. And not in a good way either. Maybe it was the Pres.

We made it through; luck, judgement, call it what you will. Once out the other end though, decisions had to be made. Which way now? The Meister led the way; as usual we all followed, like lambs to the slaughter.

Heading up to the radio mast above Grenofen, we decided to head down to Double Waters via some track that Crazy Kid James knew. Boy can that kid fly downhill. Looking back up the hill, I saw a few guys gulp. If I’m honest, I was a little scared myself. It was a while since I threw my leg over a frame and I could tell.

We made it down to the river and onto Double Waters. Ahead of us was the Bastard. We all hated it but all knew if we didn’t get up it, the case wouldn’t get closed. The clues were all around us. We were in a valley, the pub was at the top of a hill – this was gonna get messy and not in a good way.

Messy it was but we did it. Some barely alive. Then the unbelievable happened. Meister took us back down to the valley again. My old man always used to say -“Don’t trust a man in lycra.” Mind you my dad worked in a lingerie shop so he was biased.

Ten minutes later found us all fighting our way down a path that was rougher than a sailor’s throat after a night on Barbados rum and Cuban cigars. There didn’t seem to be a consensus about the best way down, we just trusted to gravity and he didn’t let us down.

We then hugged the Walkham up to Magpie Bridge. Some of us had the smell of beer in our nostrils and we wanted it down our throats. There was only one way to go now – up. It wasn’t pretty but neither were the people doing it. At the top, Crazy Kid James announced he had gone a bit soft, and not in a good way. He gave it a pump but... it was only a matter of time.

The group now began to fragment like a broken beer bottle on the floor of a bar on a Saturday morning. We now had to rely on our own wits. The weak, the tired and the broken were left to make their own way. It was every man for himself.

As I rocked up to the bar, I could see the broad who had caused all of this. She was tall, golden skinned, platinum blonde bubbles on top and a figure like a glass. She was Jail bait and that was fine by me – in a good way.

Reporter: Martyn

President's Footnote: A good attendance tonight and we welcomed a new gent, Paul Allen, another rider from Horrabridge. In true GOWCC fashion, we tested not just his physical prowess, but also his mental toughness by taking him right past his front door on the way to HQ! First impressions indicate he is made of the "right stuff"!