‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house you could hear the bikes starting to grouse.
The bikes were disgruntled, not treated with care but had high hopes that a bike mechanic soon would be there.
Their tires were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of the great outdoors danced through their treads.
And papa in his skinsuit and I in my cycling cap had just settled down for a post ride nap.
When from the garage there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Down to the garage I flew like a flash, tore open the door and pushed past the trash.
The moon as it gleamed off the new fashioned carbon, made everyone know these bikes were no bargain.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a mechanic with tools and much cycling gear.
His skills with the tools were so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
He heard the bikes’ grumblings and so he came and as he stood there he called them by name:
“Now Single Speed! Now Track Bike!”
“Now Fixie and Fatty!”
“On Roadie! On Tandem!”
“On Unicycle and Hard Tail!”
“Into my bike stand! Get up here you all! Now ride away! Ride away! Ride away all!”
As dry leaves that before a wild fat bike tire fly when they meet with an obstacle roll over so spry.
So into the stand the bikes they all flew, with his hands full of tools St. Nick knew what to do.
His apron covered from him from his head to his foot, the bike grease would not add to the tarnish of ashes and soot. A box of tools he had flung on his back and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work and greased all of the chains, and checked all the torque.
And laying his wrench aside, Santa rose, then cleaned all those bikes with one spray of the hose.
Then he sprang to his sleigh, to the bikes gave a whistle and away he flew faster than the Manx Missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he rode out of sight,
“Take care of your bikes! Now to all a good night!”
**based on the poem ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Clarke Moore**