By Dave Habberman and Dave Kidd
T’was the night before Fat Tire, and all through the place,
Not a biker was stirring, they’re prepared for the race.
The helmets were hung by the Trek bikes with care,
In hopes that race day soon would be there.
The sport riders were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of finishing danced in their heads.
And Dave in his do-rag, and I in my tights,
Had just settled our legs for the most restful of nights.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Average Mountain Biker, with great riders near.
More rapid than eagles his heroes they came,
He whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
Go Matter. Go Rinehart. Go Steve Tilford too.
There’s Bontrager, there’s Klein, wow, Gary Fisher, it’s you!
To the top of the hill through the leaves of the fall,
Now ride away, ride away, ride away all.
Up Fire Tower Hill the top riders they flew,
With Superfly and Fuel light, awesome and new.
And then in a moment I heard a loud huff,
There was Average Mountain Biker, his ped’ling was rough.
He came here to ride for the love of the sport,
Two thousand others all give him support.
He tried and he pumped, as hard as he could,
Alas, he hadn’t trained as much as he should.
But I heard him exclaim as away he did glide,
Happy ped’ling to all, and to all a good ride!
See you all at the Chequamegon start line, good luck riders!