Hope you don't mind a link.
http://forums.cannondaler.com/viewtopic.php?t=9060
Marc
My Christmas present to everyone.
Here you go, fellas, my Christmas present to all of you. Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shops.
Not a motor was turning (those darn traffic cops).
The bikes were parked in the garage with care,
battery-tenders connected, doing their share.
The Dalers were nestled, all snug in their beds.
While visions of strokers danced in their heads.
The wife in her t-shirt, (we finished the booze),
had just settled in, for a few hours' snooze.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew in mid-snore,
grabbed the 12-gauge, ready to give them what-for.
The lights on the lawn looked like sunshine to me,
it must be a night exercise with the USMC.
I rubbed out the sleep, thought it was too many ales,
there was a miniature sleigh, and eight Cannondales!
There were EIGHT little drivers, none nimble or quick,
most stumbling about like the ground was too slick.
But those dales, those DALES, made up for it though,
as the drivers lined up, and their names they did throw.
I'm Crash! I'm Tim! I'm Brad and I'm Allen!
He's Troy! There's Maz! and Harry and Brian!
To the top of the triple! To the top of the dune!
Now dash away, dash away, ROOST to the moon!
And then to the roof they sprang like a fire,
I heard the scraping and braking of each knobby tire.
As I pulled in my head and was turning with style,
They came down the chimney and fell out in a pile.
They were dressed all in gear, from their heads to their feet,
except Maz, who had run to the kitchen to eat.
He emerged with a cheeseburger, and more in a sack,
flung over his shoulder and draped over his back.
Their boots, how they stomped, their helmets, how shiny!
Their pants were too tight, some really too tiny!
They smelled of Redline and 10/40 synthetic,
Those smells for us Dalers, most surely magnetic!
They spoke not a word, but got right to work,
putting goodies in stockings with nary a smirk.
Then Brian turned to the others and said with a smile,
"pull my finger" and BAM they shot up 'bout a mile.
They sprang to their mounts, thumbed those magic green buttons,
and away they all rode, those horsepower gluttons.
And I heard them all shout as they rode out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Merry Christmas everyone.
Marc
It was good man:)
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the shops.
Not a motor was turning (those darn traffic cops).
The bikes were parked in the garage with care,
battery-tenders connected, doing their share.
The Dalers were nestled, all snug in their beds.
While visions of strokers danced in their heads.
The wife in her t-shirt, (we finished the booze),
had just settled in, for a few hours' snooze.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew in mid-snore,
grabbed the 12-gauge, ready to give them what-for.
The lights on the lawn looked like sunshine to me,
it must be a night exercise with the USMC.
I rubbed out the sleep, thought it was too many ales,
there was a miniature sleigh, and eight Cannondales!
There were EIGHT little drivers, none nimble or quick,
most stumbling about like the ground was too slick.
But those dales, those DALES, made up for it though,
as the drivers lined up, and their names they did throw.
I'm Crash! I'm Tim! I'm Brad and I'm Allen!
He's Troy! There's Maz! and Harry and Brian!
To the top of the triple! To the top of the dune!
Now dash away, dash away, ROOST to the moon!
And then to the roof they sprang like a fire,
I heard the scraping and braking of each knobby tire.
As I pulled in my head and was turning with style,
They came down the chimney and fell out in a pile.
They were dressed all in gear, from their heads to their feet,
except Maz, who had run to the kitchen to eat.
He emerged with a cheeseburger, and more in a sack,
flung over his shoulder and draped over his back.
Their boots, how they stomped, their helmets, how shiny!
Their pants were too tight, some really too tiny!
They smelled of Redline and 10/40 synthetic,
Those smells for us Dalers, most surely magnetic!
They spoke not a word, but got right to work,
putting goodies in stockings with nary a smirk.
Then Brian turned to the others and said with a smile,
"pull my finger" and BAM they shot up 'bout a mile.
They sprang to their mounts, thumbed those magic green buttons,
and away they all rode, those horsepower gluttons.
And I heard them all shout as they rode out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Merry Christmas everyone.
Marc
It was good man:)