It’s that time of year again – presents are wrapped, cookies are baked, and it’s time to settle in for a good old-fashioned holiday story. Well, maybe not so old-fashioned. We’ve put our own little *spin* on Clement Clarke Moore’s classic poem, “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” or as it’s more commonly known, “’Twas the Night Before Christmas.” So put another log on the fire, pour yourself a mug of cocoa, and enjoy!
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the town
Not a bike wheel was turning, not uphill nor down
Kids’ helmets were hung by the bike rack with care
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of training wheels danced in their heads;
And mamma and I back from our crisp nightly cruise,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s snooze.
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains and blinds up in a dash.
The moon in the sky and bike lights on the snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a shiny red bike, and more cycles all near,
With a little old rider, so jolly and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than runners, his cycles they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Coston! Now, Marshall! Now Huron and Mikko!
On, Sting-Ray! On, Fastback! On Koen and EVO!
To the top of the trail! To the end of the road!
Now ride away! Ride away to each humble abode!”
With the spinning of wheels and the excitement sky-high,
The bikes just took off and then started to fly,
So onto the house-top the cycles they flew,
With full baskets of toys, and Saint Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The humming and whirring of each pedal swoop.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney, St. Nick came with a bound.
He was dressed in fine gear, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bag full of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a traveler opening his pack.
His eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
A mighty fine cookie he held tight in his teeth,
While the lights on his helmet lit up like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, this good cycling elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled all the panniers; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his bike, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rode into the night,
“Happy cycling to all, and to all a good bike!”
