In the misty pre-dawn light of Epsom, three brave but ill-fated cyclists set off on a ride destined to become the stuff of legend—and scandal. Our hapless heroes: Matt la Machine, the tireless titan; Obergruppenführer Steve, the iron-willed pace master; and Fat Pete, the gluttonous gravity cheater
It was 7am, and the trio departed from Pete’s house, their goal: the infamous mammoth hill of Chalk Lane. Matt and Steve attacked the climb with steely determination, while Pete, proving that gravity does indeed play favourites, plummeted like a boulder. The duo, ever chivalrous, waited at the summit, only for Pete to barrel past them on the descent, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
This absurd cycle continued—Pete, the human pendulum, would fall behind on every ascent, only to transform into a downhill demon. Each time, Matt and Steve’s patience grew thinner, their frustration more palpable.
As they cruised into Leatherhead, Pete’s true nature emerged. Like a snake shedding its skin, he slithered ahead, snatching the First Road sign without a trace of humility. His blatant disrespect for the unwritten rules of the road was nothing short of scandalous. Pete’s antics were a blight on the sport, a farce dressed in Lycra.
With rolling hills ahead, Matt and Steve tried to restore some semblance of order, dragging Pete along in an act of misguided camaraderie. But at every village sign, Pete revealed his true colours, darting past his companions with the shamelessness of a tabloid hack. Stoke D’Abernon was no exception, as Pete sprinted ahead, his insufferable smirk visible from miles away. The guttural mutterings from Matt and Steve crescendoed into outright curses. “This isn’t how true gentlemen ride,” they grumbled. But Pete, drunk on his own ego, couldn’t care less.
As they neared Cobham, the final insult awaited. Once again, Pete surged ahead, claiming another undeserved victory. By this point, even the village dogs were barking their disapproval. A coffee break at the Giro in Esher offered a brief respite. Matt and Steve seized the moment to confront Pete, their patience finally snapped. Yet Pete, now fueled by two flat whites and a bottomless pit of arrogance, dismissed their complaints with a wave of his hand.
The ride resumed, but the camaraderie was in tatters. Pete, in his delusional triumph, believed he had conquered the Spring Stage along the Champs-Élysées. In reality, he had only solidified his reputation as the group’s undisputed knobhead. His victories were as hollow as his personality was grating.
As the sun set on their ride, Matt la Machine and Obergruppenführer Steve exchanged weary glances. They had survived a day with a man who mistook rudeness for prowess, but their spirits remained unbroken. And Pete? He had earned nothing but contempt and the dubious honor of Top Knob Award, a title he bore with undeserved pride.
Stay tuned for the next chapter in the Chronicles of the Cycling Menace , where maybe, just maybe, decency will make a comeback. Until then, ride on, brave souls, and remember: true gentlemen always wait at the top.