The Ravin' Triathlete Poem by Raymond Jimison

(Apologies to Mr. Poe)

Once upon a hillclimb weary, as I pondered speed and gearing,
over a pained and worrisome saddle sore.
While I plodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came slapping,
as if someone gently tapping, tapping at my very core.
''Tis the pedal clicking', I muttered, 'Tapping at my very core-
only this and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember a humid, hot September,
with each crank, one more, one more.
Eagerly I wished the peak, as my body began to leak,
losing strength from every pore.
'This is it, there is no more.'

Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer.
'Sir', I whispered, 'Your muscles you must implore.'
And from deep within me, rose a wellspring that would send me,
surging to the crest and through the door.
'This is the way, forevermore.'

But, as fate would have it, there came a fearsome racket,
as if some beast was tapping, lurking at my very door.
The silken spin began to rumble, my legs began to fumble,
the chainring seemed to crumble, as my face kissed nature's floor.
'The darkness was upon me, nothing more.'

Sadly, silence could not be still, as the bearings rolled downhill.
Finally resting in the valley, where I'd been some time before.
Upon my leafy bed, thoughts echoed in my head,
what a turn of luck had struck me, as it never had before.
'Nevermore.'

But, as my mind did lighten, the image of a nut not tightened,
gave ominous explanation as to why I was so sore.
And with this vision reeling, as much as I love wheeling,
a promise to myself akneeling, did outpour.

Where wrenching skills are needed, my tri-bike has been cheated.
To the experts I vow to leave this so important chore.
'To the bike shop...forevermore.'