Let me take you on a woeful journey though 'tis not very far That goes past lovely airport yonder via the three compasses bar. Some will complete a geared one hundred within five rounds of sixty While others will self-flagellate atop a rusty fixie. Even more will dawdle and fill with beer a tun or two of fond delay And thus will struggle to complete while still it reigns as day. The sad completeists will do the required and ride to it to and fro While others will simply take fond hope the trails be free of snow. Sad, it's not even the day of Christmas or even very near it yet It's barely the beginning of the month in which that day is set. At one hundred clicks or thereabouts 'tis not even worth a solitary point for that would severely put the audax committee's noses out of joint. So why oh why do we bother to make this journey short When all around us in slumbers our partners snore and snort? For high! 'Twill be fun (type two) and good cheer without bound That doth accompany us upon our drear and pointless round. So see you there good riding friends! See you in the 'spoons You merry band of gentlefolk You craz'ed cycling loons.