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‘Twas Cactus Ryan of Yeoval Town, who caught the cycling craze One day while seated in the bar in an alcoholic haze. He dressed himself in Dungarees, gave his boots and hat a clean Then hurried off to town to buy a shiny new machine
The bike shop owner had not seen such a specimen before ‘We don't have too many racing bikes for a bloke that’s eight foot four!’ ‘How about the latest Kevlar bike, just a thousand bucks brand new?’ ‘No Mate, that nice pink racy job, that will surely do!’
‘But sir, that’s a ladies bike, why would you take the punt?’ Said Cactus with a knowing grin, ‘It’s the basket on the front!’ ‘I've near 15 mile to ride in style, could take me half a year, That basket it could save me life, as it’s carrying me beer!’
As Cactus wheeled it though the door, with air of Lordly pride The grinning bike shop owner said, ‘Excuse me can you ride?’ ‘See here old mate’ the Cacti said ‘From Walgett to the sea From ‘Paschendale’ to the Yeoval Pub, there is none can ride like me’ I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows Although I'm not the one to talk, I hate a man that blows! I've put on a show at a rodeo, stayed abroad a bucking bull, And handled a kicking Dorset Ram, while peeling off it’s wool But riding is my special gift, my chiefest sole delight In Yeoval town, I’ve gained renown, for riding hard all night’.
So Cactus practiced when he could, he was keen to look a winner He peddled round the shearing sheds, at smoko time and at dinner But with the modern raised board sheds, quite a mess our lad got in, When he made a slip and a flying trip, upside down in the pieces bin.
‘Twas Cactus Ryan hit Cumnock Town, to give the crowds a thrill; And cycle into history, on the ride for ‘Mulga Bill’ He ignored the heckling of the crowd, all the ridicule and scorn That mostly came from a grey haired chap, who resembled ‘Choofles Vaughan!’
The boss man Col gave the boy a pat, ‘Mate I wouldn't be surprised If on the ride, you are pulled aside by the cops and breathalysed!’ As he rode off, a little girl let out some deafening squeals ‘Hey Mummy, Mummy look at that, it’s a telegraph pole on wheels!’
The pink machine led the mob, as Cactus rang his bell, With his basket full of rocket fuel, he bid Cumnock farewell Jacinta Munce could barely look, in case her mate should fall As Cactus with two beers held high, rode on, no hands at all!
His legs gave out near ‘Brigalow’ the searing pains got worse He thanked the Lord as he staggered forward that his aunty was a nurse! He halted at the next farm house, time to stop and sink a few The Cacti slumped near the letter box and muttered ‘Thistledo’
‘Twas Cactus Ryan with gritted teeth, who ignored those searing pains As he gathered speed and took the lead, on the bend near Willy Tremain’s Now the finish was near, the locals did cheer. He could see the roof of the pub And a barmaid or two to hand him a brew and give his poor cramped legs a rub
Choofles and Col and the local Hob Knobs, were waiting to flag him past As they started to clap, ’twas clear to each chap, that Cacti was going to fast! The lad had the shakes and the bike had no brakes! As he let out a passing shriek! The bike led the dance that ended by chance, in the depths of the cold ‘Sandy Creek’.
So did Cactus win the race? Well that’s another story For now I'm off to the spinal ward, to visit my mate, Rory.
“The Bournewood Boy”
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Cactus Ryan’s Bicycle |