A DEFLATING EXPERIENCE.

Twas Dr B of Mandurang what got the cycling craze
His passion was for downhill runs, his speed it would amaze.
He wouldn't ride with normal folk, Presbyterians in particular,
He preferred much steeper stuff, practically perpendicular.

The ladies had suggested that he could ride with them
But he demurred 'cos he had heard they were a bunch of FEMS
He was drawn by gravity their invites he'd not heed
He preferred CELERITY that another word for speed.

He would pedal upward just for the quid pro quo
He'd rest a moment on the rim and then he'd let her go
He'd hurtle down the steepest tracks, over rock and root,
He'd hurtle straight through Dead Mans Creek, he didn't give a hoot.

He bounced of every rabbit hole where every slip was death
He rarely braked, he let her run, but then he drew his breath,
When his front wheel hit that rut, he continued unimpaired
Because kinetic energy's half mass times velocity squared.

O'er the handlebars he flew, in the air he hung,
The impact snapped his scapula and punctured his right lung.
And then he heard the angels sing to an organ or harmonium
His brain'd released endorphins to sooth his crushed acromion.

Twas Dr B of Mandurang who limped home sore that night
He tried to flag down passing cars, but they just dipped their lights
The moral of this little tale is never ride alone,
And if you do you silly bastard take your mobile phone.