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We’re up and away at break of day
Feeling the worse for wear
We’d had a few beers and shed a few tears
For someone no longer there
Across town we dart, it’s a bit stop-start
“I’ve got a bloody nose”, Den moans
I’m none too frisky, from that one last whisky
And I still hurt in my Sittingbournes
Our wheels start to spin with the joy of spring
And soon we roll into Rainham
We follow Route One in cool early sun
To the mudflats then onto Gillingham
This part of the tour is a bit of a chore
Urban traffic just makes me grumble
The ferry at Gravesend has met a sad end
So we head for the Dartford Tunnel
No bikes are allowed or so we have found
So we have to take a shuttle
On the way I distinguish Estuary English
Its tones are far from subtle
(I should talk!)
After lunch is tough and though the trail’s not rough
We’re next to vehicles doing 60 or faster
Then it’s harum scarum on the road where some
Lorries nearly spell disaster
Den’s rim’s on the wonk, about to conk
We stop at a bicycle shop
The man fits a new wheel, we think it’s a steal
Till he snaps off the key in the lock
Locksmith bound I hear the sound
Of Den swearing his tyre’s sprung a leak
When he’s fixed his tube he gets the news
A new key only takes a week
Five miles to go, Den cries “No!”
His battery’s run out of juice
After a day of doom, trouble finding our room
So time for some alcohol abuse.
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