Dearly beloved, clearly warped, sometimes vagrants and always pedallers I welcome you to this short service in memory of Summer.
A fickle mistress she has blessed us with few scant hours of warmth and sunshine but delivered us from long dark nights.
Last night’s rolling sermon in the hills and grime of Mirfield reminded us all of how much she is missed and how quickly she was taken from us.
We are taught that one day she will rise again to bring warmth, happiness and bone dry trails to our green and pleasant playgrounds. But lest we forget that these promised paths are only for the righteous Winter riders. Those who suffer the grinding, soul crushing drivetrain eating tests of Winter faith.
So if I could ask you all to dip your lids in quiet thought and recite the Mountain biker’s prayer.
Our Father who art in Marin county Joe Murray be thy name. The ride will come, and miles are done, On dirt as it is on tarmac. Give us this ride our beloved Shimano and deliver us from Campag. And forgive us our night time footpath trespasses as we forgive those who wear red socks And lead us not into golf but deliver us from punctures. For yours is the singlespeed, the 29er and the geared. Forever and ever. AmenFat Lad
(I’m so going to Hull….)
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