an ode to the afternoon ride

gettin' all poetic up in this piece...

Poor little Donnie, and poor little Jay
Met in front of Brower this cold windy day.
One underdressed, feeling quite frozen-toed
The other would rather be playing off-road.

Towards Watchung our two brave bicyclists did leave,
In weather a penguin would nary believe.
How epic! How moving! But I should rebuke,
This ride didn't cause either cyclist to puke.

They struggled up River, then up Mountain Ave
Knowing their goal was what they would soon have,
The chance to ascend that deplorable run,
Known to the people as the road of Washington.

First up, and then down, then twice over again,
'Tween pickup trucks shouting "in spandex? not men!"
Up switchbacks and kickups and false-flats galore
'Till neither could stand to ascend any more.

Now back towards New Brunswick these two did attack
The wind now an aide, pushing them from the back.
They checked their cyclometers, quite pleased to discover
The high speeds well known to any tail-wind lover.

First 20, then 40, then 60 did they see,
(this is a literary device known as 'hyperbole'.
Ask angry-faced Mark, he'll surely attest,
for he's an English dude, and one of the best!)

Upon contemplation, they knew they had shown
Something every roadie ever has always just known
A truth that's been known since ancient rides past,
It can't be the tailwind, you're just fit and fast!