Twas the night before Trogs Day, when all through the house Not a Crank was Spinning, not even a Spring compressing.The Bike Frames were hung by the chimney with care, In hope that St. Trogs soon would be there;
The Trogs were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of SingelTrack danced in their heads: And mama in her Lycra, and I in my ear muffs, Had just settled down for a long Trogs nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
away to the window I Descended like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave the luster of mid Trogs day to objects below, When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a OctoTandem, and eight Cycling Reindeer, with a Trogs driver, so lively and quick,
More Rapid Fire than Manual shifting his courses they came, and whistled, shouted, and called to all Trogs,"To the Top of the Hill! To the top of the Ridge! Now Pedal away! Pedal away! Pedal away all! As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet an obstacle, and mount to the sky, So to the Mountain Top the course they flew, with the OctoTandem full of Bike Parts, and ST. Trogs too.
Happy Holidays TROGS