Panegyric to Rita the Rickshaw Part 1

One and all, the time has come. After the exertions of the Rickshaw Run back in September 2012 I wrote a panegyric (if you will) to our superb rickshaw Rita who carried us over 3,000 km across India. 

Having come to realise that a poem of this magnitude will not get published anywhere reputable I've decided to do it here.

So please find below the first instalment of Panegyric to Rita the Rickshaw or Three wheels, two stroke, one tuk, no chance:-

It had seemed like a laugh one year ago;

Warm in an office, how could we know?

“Come on,” we said, “this will be fun.”

“Come on,” we said, “let’s do the Rickshaw Run.”

We bought our insurance, our entry and fare,

Not knowing exactly what we would find there.

We raised money for charities, Chailey and Frank.

To all who donated, to you we give thank (s).

Then the day of departure, it finally came

When we set out from Heathrow – Shillong our aim.

Sat at Guwahati, many hours hence,

We haggled with cabbies over taxi expense.

Our driver, once chosen, was a bat out of hell,

Swerving round corners, always accel-

-Erating. We sat, resigned to our fate.

“The map said this damned road would be straight!”

We got to our hotel at God knows what time

Weary and grubby, into bed we did climb.

The following day we would meet our brave shaw

Who’d carry us thousands of miles or more.

We arrived at the test site refreshed and excited

When would our noble three-wheeler be sighted?

We filled in our forms and were directed into

A big muddy parade full of hullabaloo.

“Our rickshaw’s in there, let’s go and meet her!”

We saw you and smiled and we called you Rita.

Parked in the corner, painted just as we’d asked,

You sat resplendent. In your glory we basked.

Painted out front, hoplite hippos with spears;

Castrol and Bollux – they allayed all our fears.

Yet still our concerns were there at first glance:

Three wheels, two stroke, one tuk, no chance.