Twas the ride before Christmas

Twas the ride before Christmas,

and all through the pack,

not a rider was talking,

not even in back.

The leaders were surging;

"we'll drop them," they laughed;

but the pack just tucked lower;

and hung in their draft.

The bunch was all quiet,

and gasping for air,

their buddies were dropping

thou' they gave not a care.

And my teammate and I

now pushing the pace higher

were just getting ready

to launch a new flyer.

When somewhere in back,

there arose such a clatter,

I thought I should look

to see what was the matter.

Under my arm

I glanced with a frown,

almost expecting

to see riders go down.

The glare of the sunlight

on the asphalt below

gave to the paceline

a sickening glow.

When, what to my watering

eyes should appear,

but a dude on a track bike,

with one massive gear.

With a tiny old rider

tucked low on the bike,

I knew in a moment

it had to be Mike.

He pushed on the pedals,

and lept on ahead;

"it's no social ride,"

was all that he said.

Now Woody, now Ryan,

now Jordan, and Ben!

On Howard, on Kenny,

ride fast as you can.

Up the left came the paceline,

and out went the call,

Now dash away, dash away,

dash away all!

As dry leaves that 'fore

the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle,

mount to the sky,

So up to the break

'way the coursers they flew,

with a whole bunch of stragglers,

and Keith Andrews too.

And then, in a twinkling,

I heard a light thump,

The delicate shifting

of one soon to jump.

As I reached out to shift,

and was turning around,

Right down the middle

Howard came with a bound.

He was dressed in a skinsuit,

from his head to his toe,

And he leapt out ahead

to put on a good show;

A half-empty Camelback

he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a madman

as he glared at the pack.

His eyes -- how they dared us,

to take up the chase.

and the riders up-shifted,

to match his cruel pace!

He veered to the left,

to get a clean line,

and the pack got strung-out

for the twentieth time;

The riders were closing,

the gap he had done,

but many were dropping

off one after one;

The pack came together,

now elbow-to-belly,

it shook and it wiggled

like a bowl full of jelly.

The riders were having,

some jolly old fun,

And I laughed when I saw it,

now the race had begun;

With wink of his eye

and a twist of his head,

a Herring-Gas rider

was the next one to dread;

He spoke not a word,

but went straight to his deed,

And pulled us all up

to a dizzying speed;

then turned with a jerk,

his hand on his ass,

And giving a nod,

he dared us to pass;

He sprang to his feet,

to his team gave a sign,

And away they all flew

down white-painted line.

But I heard him exclaim,

ere he quickened his pace,

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL,

AND TO ALL A GOOD RACE."