'Twas windy and the scrawny Freds
Did hunker and grumble in his draft,
All spent were the wannabes
Their excuses been cast.

Beware the final climb, my son,
With grades that bite and switchbacks come fast,
Beware the final pitches, and shun
The puny pretenders at last.

He took his Ergo lever in hand,
Long time this tedious foe he fought,
But dwelled in the saddle a moment,
Until his rivals weakness he caught.

As in instinct he stood,
His rival attacked with legs aflame,
Up the opposite side of the road
Shifting as he came.

Twenty three and twenty two
Through the cassette clickity clack,
He left his rival on the climb,
With a final look back,

Have you dropped the pretender,
To win the Town Line sprint my boy?
Oh brilliant move, I will say
Your blog will burst with joy!

'Twas windy and the scrawny Fred's,
Now crushed in his wake,
Ashamed to be seen in the same parking lot,
Another route home they did take.