Hard men and their machines turn into one (or rather two)

This morning we woke up to yet another blustery autumnal semi-gale blowing down into our by-now hardened faces. After stocking up on bacon and eggs we faced the elements and decided to show them what we are really made of. Well we were made of sterner stuff than Paul's pedal which disintegrated and had to be replaced. Whilst doing this I enjoyed the excellent hospitality of Paul's mom, Jackie. To celebrate our passing though she had even invested in cans of Budweiser to go down with the day's second helping of bacon and eggs. However as a card carrying CAMRA member I felt duty bound to point out that the said brewery has little rights, legally or skills-wise to honour that name. We did enjoy a most excellent lunch before we headed off into the northerly gale. By now we had decided to follow the Velominati Rule No. 5 and become one with our bikes and carry on regardless. And we did - to such an extent that by the time we reached a charming town, Garstang, south of Lancaster our bums had become firmly welded to the saddles - unfortunately the sensation this resulted in was as if the blow torch had been left on, and the last 4-5 miles were performed in Cavendish style trying to wrench our abraded sensitive parts out of the saddle.
So by the  time we had settled into the Royal Oak hotel with its vast selection of local beers we felt that we deserved something special - may we suggest  a pint of Cumbria Way 4,1 % from Hartleys, a nice session ale, followed by Dizzy's Blonde and Dizzy's Dark Side. Both perfectly palatable perhaps with the Dark Side coming out tops with its oaky flavours.
And to you, Pharisees , who think that beer and bikes don't match may we suggest that you talk to your raw bottom what it would prefer after a day in the saddle - a lovely local pint or. Pot of green tea. We know what our backsides prefer.