Bill Rides Again - Part 2

There's a local legend of a tadpole trike
That goes much, much faster than an upright bike.
Bill, the guy who rides it is a mystery
To his roadie victims but he's not to me.

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There was still one diehard in this biking bunch
Scott insisted, "People, we can eat his lunch.
If we just keep humping till that next big hill,
We can catch him easy there and blow off Bill!
I am sure we'll do it if we hurt a while.
If you take turns cranking hard in single file,
Then we'll have our fastest sprinter lead me out,
And I'll be well rested for the uphill route."

All the riders realized the plan might work,
And they had to try it. Quoted Scott (the jerk),
"Bill will be much slower when he hits that slope,
And I'll catch him climbing. It's our only hope!"
One by one they hammered hard and did their best.
Then they dropped off, gasping as they tried to rest,
While the next brave roadie tried to up the pace;
Rolling ever faster it was quite a chase!

Then at last they saw that they had closed on Bill,
Near the very bottom of the monster hill.
Only one more rider left, along with Scott
That was Tom, the sprinter, who was short and squat,
With his muscles bulging now, he really tried,
And his bike was flopping hard from side to side
But they'd gotten closer just a hundred feet
And then Scott took over. This would be so sweet!

Scott was eager, rested, full of pep and pride,
And he'd hammer hard until his muscles fried,
If that's what it took to catch this damned old fart;
He would sprain leg muscles and explode his heart.
He was sure it wouldn't really be that tough
He was gaining quickly 'cause he had the stuff.
Soon the gap was down to only ten bike lengths,
And the hill got steeper, stressing young Scott's strengths.

Yes! The hill was getting very steep and hard,
And he'd catch this nuisance, this old tub of lard.
But now Bill was climbing faster than at first,
Leaving Scott behind to dread and fear the worst.
He was riding harder than he ever had,
But old Bill was faster! He was hurting bad.
But he couldn't blow it; he must beat Bill now!
How could Bill be faster? What the Hell? Why? How?

Then at last Scott's muscles simply cramped and froze.
As he felt the spasms turn to aches and throes,
He could not keep going; he could not proceed.
He was going slower than his balance speed;
So his bike fell over and he flopped out flat.
When I passed them later he still lay like that,
And I had to grin a bit as I rode by;
It could not have happened to a better guy.

There's a little cafe up the road aways,
Which I often visit on my workout days.
As I locked my trike up, I saw Dan, a friend,
Who was closing up his minivan's rear end.
"Where's your trike?" I asked him as I shook his hand,
"It's a nice ride up here and the weather's grand."
Then he smiled and chuckled, "Yes, I quite agree.
When I passed, you didn't know that that was me?"

I was standing, awestruck by what Dan had said,
But I knew he wasn't playing with my head.
"What the...? Huh?" I stuttered (not too swift, I fear)
"That was you? You're Bill? But... but... you are here."
He just stood there, quiet, till my brain kicked in,
And at last I got it. Dan is fast as sin,
But his major talent? He's an engineer.
And he's very tricky with his cycling gear.

Dan just laughed and said, "I guess you're catching on.
But hey, pal, I'm hungry. I've been up since dawn.
I was lurking, waiting for that little bunch,
I was getting worried that I might miss lunch.
Let's go have some breakfast; I will buy the eggs,
And we'll drink some coffee while we rest our legs.
Then I'll show you something no one else has seen:
It's my stealth tricycle; it's the Mean Machine."

As we ate our breakfasts, Scott et al rode past,
Looking much less perky and a bit downcast.
I had lots of questions as I walked with Dan,
But they soon were answered when we reached his van.
It had darkened windows but he slid the door
To reveal its contents; there upon the floor
Was a trike with Bill at least his upper half.
And my giggle turned into a full-blown laugh!

"It's an aero fairing made of carbon plies,
And I sit inside it as I pump my thighs.
Plus my legs are covered with these Lycra tights
That look just like blue jeans on my little flights.
Oh, the hardshell luggage is a fairing too
With a wind drag factor less than point-three-two.
And the beard's a cover for some Oh-two tanks,
That I use for breathing as I spin my cranks."

"But the major factor in this hi-po trike
Is a little gimmick that I'm sure you'll like:
Twenty-eight volt motor that I use on climbs
At its max horsepower no one beats my times.
It has lightweight batteries; it's super quiet,
And it's fast as fury. Do you wanna try it?"
Well you know the answer: "Yes," I said, "I do!"
"Not so fast," he told me, "You get number two."

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There's a local legend of a tadpole trike
That goes much, much faster than an upright bike.
And if you should doubt it, well, just pick your hill;
I'll be riding past you. You can call me 'Bill'!

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Last updated Oct 5 2005