This poem well, I mean the one that follows, actually; I'm still managing to avoid that demeaning descent into free verse, at least so far was originally posted to the IHPVA Trikes Mail List. As usual with this sort of stuff, I put an all-caps keyword acronym in the message header and then make up something that the acronym might mean. And awa-a-a-ay we go-o-o-o...

NOTE: The keyword FUN is short for Frivolous Unproductive Nonsense. Please make sure that your sense of humor is in at least a moderately free-spinning gear and your chuckling brake is fully released before continuing to read this message!

After a recent (but not last, I'm quite sure) round of discussion on this mail list about 'the ideal gearing for trikes', I was reminded of a year or two ago when another paltry passel of postings in the pervasively prolonged (perpetual?) parade of (perhaps profound but predominantly personal) political positions pertaining to proper proportions of point-to-point procession past pavement per push of a pedal provoked one preeminent participant* from the polar provinces to promptly pen this apparently peevish but pertinently pithy poemlet:

Bored to tears
With gears...
* That's Canadian Bob Stewart, of course

In that same vein, something kept rattling around my little brain until it grew and morphed into the following (tongue-in-cheek!) heads-up for this year's crop of potential fledgling trikeys who are trying to decide exactly what they should choose in the way of a tadpole drive train:

Caveat for Cogs

Most would-be trikeys want to know
What gears you'll need from high to low
As up and down the hills you go.

So you look here where we bestow
Experience from long ago,
From guys with ducks all in a row,
Or those with trikes so new they glow
Who rode a mile in foot deep snow,
But just can't wait to let us know
That "Rohloff-Schlumpf's the way to go",
Or "Guys, you must get Capreo!"
Please be aware of status quo.

Like Oprah's chatty TV show,
Opinions fairly freely flow,
But vary (contradict), and so...
What's right? What's wrong? Like Edgar Poe
You sit each night as some strange crow
Squawks out his pet buzzwords, although
He doesn't think of (much less know)
Your special needs; and your doubts grow
As long debates swing to and fro.

My take? [Please note IMHO!]
Convictions, even of a pro,
May not be apt or apropos
For how you climb or what you tow.
If he rides fast but you ride slow,
His gears might cause your knees to blow.
Is he laidback, but you're gung ho?
Three shifters? Four!? Not quite ergo
And Tampa isn't Lake Tahoe.

The bottom line, dear John (or Jo),
Is: You're unique from head to toe;
Use YOUR own head... then 'Tally Ho!'

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Last updated Oct 29 2004