- Sports and Recreation
Breaking The Wind In A Pace-Line
Breaking The Wind-If You Aren't The Lead Dog...
We ponder the road-racing greats of old.
We wonder how they came to be so bold.
It takes hard work and great preparation.
To win even once, is cause for great celebration.
A racer must be a strong and fast man.
He also must have a very good plan.
Does he shed his credo to complete this task?
“What cost is too much”, we all have to ask.
Do we try every trick, or commit any sin,
Just to chalk up another win?
We cycle through the countryside and town after town,
With the pace-line hardly making a sound.
Mile after mile not a word is spoken,
And all at once the silence is broken.
A smell permeates the entire countryside,
Disrupting an otherwise beautiful ride.
Who would dare to be so crass,
To intentionally pass this lethal gas?
Who would dare, to foul the air,
With smells that come from their derriere?
An odor capable of burning your nasal hair.
No one admits to this dastardly deed,
Of disregarding the cyclists’ creed.
This was sufficient to be the last verse,
But let me explain how this poem came to get worse.
I was in this great race in 2002.
I was working hard, the best I could do.
I’ll not forget his number, 123,
For as you will see, he blindsided me.
We were working together, I began to assume.
I was drafting behind him, when he lowered the “boom”.
He “let one go”, he cut the cheese.
It almost brought me to my knees.
I wondered if the pros used tactics such as these.
Taking someone’s air and making them wheeze.
Not a move to the left, not a move to the right.
He squeezed one off, and I lost my sight.
No “excuse me sir for I have sinned”
He just sped off, looked back, and grinned.
I choked, I slowed, I lost all heart.
My passion was robbed by an evil fart.
I was hit between the eyes
With a smell to despise.
He showed no taste, as I was hit in the face.
It was no longer important to continue the chase.
I wondered about the fuel that he had used
As I felt as though I had been abused.
I thought weird thoughts and became deranged,
If you weren’t the lead sled dog, things never changed.
So when one plots about what one can do
Just to stay in front of you,
Please believe this strongly, without a doubt,
There are quite a few tricks that should be left out.
There will be those that think I’m wrong
To even write this poem and then make it long.
So add some music and make this a song,
It’s all about a guy who went ppfffffffft and then he was gone!