To my Darling Dame of the Velo Urbane:
So much of the time it is, "me, me, me."
This I now realize.
All we say for hours on end is, "bike, bike, bike."
And ignore you, and demoralize.
Italian and French men you've never known,
At your expense, we canonize.
And worst of all we never give thanks.
For that, I apologize.
And now it's time to recognize.
That we take all that pain through course of the race
So we can come home to the smile on your face.
We're gone all those weekends, to not see you at all
To make us seem stronger and 20 feet tall
We're guys afterall, just playing King of Hill
Because in the end, we all want the girl.
But to have you there, is beyond any measure.
To hear your cheers, turns agony to pleasure.
I will never again pass over your due,
Even on the ride out, the front seat is for you.
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