An ode to the Alps

After months of waiting and planning had passed
The 5th of June had arrived at long last

The boys were all packed and up with the lark,
Cos Big Al would be collecting them at 6 o’clock sharp

Ronnie wiped away a tear as he kissed goodbye to Lorraine
Would she ever see her sweet hubbie again?

‘Keep my man safe’, she cried out to Al Jones
And if he gets into trouble, I’ll break all your bones

Ahead of us lay long highways, vast mountains and sea,
But they’d finished all their butties before Overton on Dee

Chris soon took Ian’s wheel and sped through the gears
It was his first time on a motorway in 25 years

Soon we were sailing, leaving Blighty far behind,
All of us wondering what adventures we’d find

After driving 700 miles we were starting to grovel
And Paul had booked them into a nice little hovel

It’s perfectly safe, the patron had said,
But he still took his f***ing Roubaix to bed,

The bedbugs nipped at our bums, backs and scalps,
But the following day we would be in The Alps,

Ron, Mark and Chris went shopping and that much was folly,
For half an hour later they had f*** all in their trolley,

Eventually we arrived at our cabin of logs,
Where Al took a sh!t in his own private bog,

On the road to alpe d huez we chatted and laughed
For the next 14k would be f***ing hard graft

Chrissie shot off , Mark and Ron not far adrift,
Big Al rolled on by and Ian cadged a lift,

Around hairpin 4 Ronnie made some new friends,
3 German fellas called Hans, Fritz and Jens,

At the top of the Alpe the snow caps were glistening,
But it soon became clear that Ronnie was missing,

Al’s face turned ashen, he looked pretty bad,
Cos he’d told Lorraine he’d look after her lad,

The lads phoned, texted and shouted till Ronnie’s panic was over,
And he promised to stay close til they got back to Dover,

Mark checked his computer as his coffee was poured
And swore he’d just shattered panatni’s record

The climb of les deux alpes was as hard as it got,
And by around hairpin 3 our arses started to rot,

A cold beer at the top revived tired hearts and limbs,
While Ian relaxed back at camp with a nice glass of Pimms,

Ron still needed a photo so we said we’d come back and stop,
Around hairpin 3 on alpe d huez, just short of the top,

The very next day Ronnie’s woes were forgotten
Until Fritz shouted across ‘you’re supposed to start at ze bottom’

Friday arrived and it would be a massive day,
Cos the climb of the Glandon was 33k,

Chris and Paul teamed up well and went from the off,
Big Al dunked his head like a bull at a trough,

After 70 miles we arrived back at camp,
But Ron still tried to drop me on the f***ing last ramp,

Our bodies were broken, we all ached and groaned,
But we felt right as rain after some Cotes du Rhone

So as we sit here today in the middle of December
I hope this poem will help us all remember

The Cols we climbed and the valleys we delved,
Shall we go again in two thousand and twelve?