You think the riders in the Tour of Wellington are doing it tough? Spare a thought for us, the poor spectators, forced to sit in a car for hours, sun blazing through sunroof onto bald pates, made to cut Camembaert with a Swiss Army knife, compelled to drink Trappist tripel from a wine glass. It's hell, I tells ya.
But we shirk not our responsibility to bring a sense of the Casually Deliberate to the roadsides of the Wairarapa, to support the stars of the show as they suffer up the long steep climb of the Rimutaka Hill, to maybe fill their heads with the subliminal sounds of Hendrix for the rest of their hot, hard day out. t's our mission, one we take to with the necessary commitment. I hope they appreciate our toil as much as we do theirs.
So we implore you, the Wellyminati, to don your finest spectating attire and gather on the mean streets of Lambton Quay on Sunday for the final stage, the always-entertaining criterium. We shall assemble for the imbibing of fine ales from midday, as the sun passes the yardarm, at the Occidental Hotel; gentlemanly encouragement will be offered to the combatants from 3pm. Tea and scones will follow the conclusion of the competition.
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*Thanks to Richard (aka Rigid) for the picnic and pics, and to Aussie import VMH Belinda for driving two drunks around the countryside in a big, ungainly Swedish vehicle.