Tuesday Tour

4th September 2012


click to enlarge

Bill V, Tom, David Lt, Richard Ln and John G assembled at the pier and were surprised by the appearance of Richard N, albeit not on his bike. He is hopeful, however, of returning to the rides soon.

Today's route in perfect conditions, sun with little wind, took the riders through Fowlmead Park, Finglesham to Felderland Lane where Bill K was waiting patiently. So the final peloton of six headed through Staple, Wingham and Bramling before turning towards Bekesbourne and the Chalkpit Farm cafe.

After the lengthy sustenance the group headed back, sometimes on a different route, sometimes retracing the same. It was glorious weather throughout, hot sunshine and very little wind and the total distance recorded was near 35 miles (JG)

On another subject I received an amended poem from Richard Ln, as follows:

To ride or not to ride, that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler to sit on the couch,
Thy dreams and desires 'til life's end mulling,

Or to take up touring through lands unknown,
And so by doing, To Live - To Feel, your life renewing,
The heartache of thy dreams unfilled,
No longer claim thee - thou art free,

To ride, perchance to live - Ay, there's the joy,
For in that ride of life, what dreams come true,
When we have shoved off all routine cares,
That make monotony of precious life,

For who could bear the thought of dreams gone by,
When all thou had to do was ride,
And ride and rise under thine own power,
Where lands of dreams become life's new day.

(Hamlet Takes a Cycle Tour: by Bruce Gunn)

....but no sooner had it arrived when another version, doctored by Stan, followed in its wake, as follows:

To golf or not to golf, that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler to sit on the couch,
And dream and desire 'til life's end mulling,

Or take to playing over courses unknown,
And so in doing, To Live - To Feel, your life's frustration,
The heartache of thy dreams unfilled,
No longer claim thee - thou art free,

To play, perchance to live - Ay, there's the joy,
For in that one game of life, what dreams come true,
When we have shoved off all routine cares,
That make monotony of precious life,

For who could bear the thought of dreams gone by,
When all thou had to do was play,
And play, the perfect Chip, the perfect Putt,
Where lands of dreams become life's new day.

(John G plays a round of golf by Stan B)

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