Like Martin Luther King, I had a dream
But mine was to go to Belgium and boy was I keen
My bag was packed and the bike was built
And I jacked in my job, no feelings of guilt
A quick email and the Rayner Fund were on side
But come March and there was nowhere to hide
Queue the wind, wet and cold, or just leave it at grim
March rolled into April and still no signs of a win
May was looking up as I cracked that top 20
I raced every other day so opportunities were plenty
Then the highlight of the year as I rode to watch the tour
A great day out and a look at what I was aiming for
But from highs to lows as I took a tumble and broke my frame
I was battered and bruised, my head out the game
I remember the drive home, I wanted to cry like a baby
Even the radio couldn’t console me with a bit of ‘call me
maybe’
But I got back on the spare bike and did what I could
But prize money never went far with Belgium’s Robin Hood
My final chance came in my only stage race of the year
The hiss of a puncture and I was out the rear
But I leave Belgium with no regrets… no wins either
It’s in words not
trophies that I’ll be remembered as a rider
