Twas the night before Cookie Monster’s birthday, when all ‘round the block,
Not a Drafter was biking, not even Tick Tock;
The jerseys were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Assos and craft beer soon would be left there;
The Drafters were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of bicyclin’ danc’d in their heads,
And C-Monster in her ‘kerchief, and E$ in his cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap-
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
CM sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window she flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;
When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But a fat tire bike, and case of cold dark beer,
With a freshly lubed chain so lively and quick,
She knew in a moment it wasn’t a trick.
More rapid than Bomber the Drafters they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
“Now! Skipper, now! Caboose, now! Z Rex, and Brickson,
“On! Coach Arms, on! Billy Bob, on! Loose Screw and Speedy;
“To the top of the Enchanted! to the top of the Barlow!
“Now draft away! draft away! draft away all!”
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the hill-top the Drafters they flew,
With the pocket full of chews – and extra CO2:
And then in a twinkling, CM heard on the route
The prancing and pawing of Dan-yelly, no doubt.
As she drew in her head, and was turning around,
Down the road the Drafters came with a bound:
They were dress’d all in green, from helmet to cleat,
And their clothes were all tarnish’d with mud on their seat;
A case of beer was flung on their back,
And they look’d like a pedaler just opening the 6-pack:
Their eyes – how they twinkled! their dimples how merry,
Their cheeks were like roses, and nose like a cherry;
Their droll little mouths were drawn up like a bow,
And the sweat on their chin was as salty as tequila on the first go;
The stump of a Cliff shot they held tight in their teeth,
And the stink of their sweat encircled their heads like a wreath.
They had broad glutes, and a huge quadriceps belly
That shook when they climbed, like a bowl full of jelly:
They were ripped and fit, right jolly old elves,
And CM laugh’d when they tried to keep up, in spite of herself;
A wink of the eye and a twist of their heads
Soon gave CM to know she had nothing to dread.
They spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
And fill’d all the tires; then turn’d with a jerk,
And clipping in their cleats just behind the toes,
And giving a nod, up the 20% grade they rose.
They sprung to their bikes, and the team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
But CM heard them exclaim, ere they biked out of sight-
Happy Birthday to CM Wille, and to all a good night.