Twas the Night Before Naked Style
Twas the morning of December 15th, when all through the city
Not a cyclist was riding, not even a Madison.
The trainers were set up by the tv with hate,
In hopes that Spring soon would be there.
The computrainer women were nestled all snug on their bikes,
While visions of outdoor riding danced in their heads.
And me with my hangover, and laziness to boot,
Had just settled my stomach for a short winter’s ride.
When out on the trail there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my saddle to see what was the matter.
Away to the reservoir I rode like a sloth,
Forgot about my heart rate monitor and threw out my training plan.
The sun never came on the new-fallen snow
Gave gloom and doom to the road below.
When, what to my watering eyes should appear,
But a group ride with a 5 cyclist train.
With a wheel sucking leader, so spunky and steady,
I knew in a moment it must be Naked ladies.
More rapid than eagles their train they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
As dry leaves that fly from the wild hurricane winds,
When they meet with a headwind, mount to a paceline.
So up to the resy the cyclist they flew,
With their jerseys full of cookies, and water bottles too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the road
The clacking and shifting of each little gear.
As I gasped for air, and was about to turn around,
Down the trail Lanier Allen came for an attack.
She was dressed all in lycra, from her head to her foot,
And her clothes were all shiny with zippers and reflectors.
A bundle of speed she had flung from the back,
And she looked like a pro, just putting a gap on the pack.
Her eyes-how they twinkled! her dimples how merry!
Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a faucet!
Her freakish massive quads were drawn up like a hammer,
And the beard of her chin was a little alarming.
The stump of a Powerbar she held tight in her teeth,
And the boost it created her speed like a missile.
She had chiseled legs and zero percent body fat,
That never would shake, not even freakin’ wiggle!
She was fit and lean, a right obnoxious old sprinter,
And my legs hurt when I saw her, in spite of my speed!
A wink of her eye and a flick of her elbow,
Soon gave me to know I had no chance of catching her.
She spoke not a word, but went straight to the front,
And picked up the pace, then picked it up more.
And laying on the pedals aside of her bike,
And giving a pull, up the reservoir she rose!
She sprang from her saddle, to give me a taunting,
And away they all flew like a bat out of hell.
But I heard her exclaim, ‘ere she rode out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-ride!”