O valiant shield of wheel and frame,
You bear the brunt of nature’s game.
When skies weep down their sodden tears,
You stand between my shorts and smears.
No splash of grit, no stripe of grime,
Shall mark my back in rain-soaked time.
You whisper not, you boast no flair,
Yet keep my dignity threadbare.
Through puddled lanes and woodland trails,
Where muck and mulch compose their tales,
You guard my gears, my chain, my soul—
A silent knight with noble role.
Though racers scoff and strip you bare,
Preferring speed to self-care’s flair,
I hail your curve, your steadfast grace,
Your quiet pride in saving face.
So here’s to you, dear plastic arc,
Or metal fender, sleek and stark.
You are the cape my bike would wear,
If steeds of steel could show they care.
Our shops have stocked up on mudguards, because no matter how long the dry weather lasts you live in Britain and with that comes the heavy burden of cycling in the rain. Don’t get wet, get mudguards!
