You've heard that tipping over on a trike
Is one adventure you (perhaps) won't like.
I've been there, done that; I was not amused.
I wasn't hurt, but oh, was I abused...
You'd think not being bruised would leave me pleased;
I might have been, but then – well... I was teased!
One day while I was riding with a troop
(Ventura County's own 'bent cycling group),
I'd dawdled up the Ojai river trail,
As often, riding sweep or drag, the tail
That wagged behind the other bikes and trikes,
In case a flat or small disaster strikes.
At Foster Park, approaching from the beach,
I planned a demonstration – not to teach,
But rather to exhibit cycling skill.
I turned in by the johns and down the hill,
I kept up my momentum as the guys
Looked up at me, the focus of all eyes.
I knew they thought that I'd keep going straight;
I grinned and turned (perhaps a bit too late).
Tight right! – I knew that I would lift a wheel.
But I'd done that before; it's no big deal.
Some sand and leaves were littering the path,
Or there was one small error in my math...
The wheel came up, but didn't stop – OH NO!
The turn was tight, so I was going slow
(Although I guess a little bit too fast);
The trike kept tipping, audience aghast.
I felt my shoulder sliding in the sand,
But hung on tight... why? I don't understand.
What happens in a crash can be complex;
I must have thought, or had some odd reflex
To tuck into a ball, the trike and me,
And let it roll. As far as I can see,
That must have been a fairly decent scheme;
I wasn't hurt – except my self-esteem.
The tadpole rolled and rose above me, when
It stopped, COMPLETELY UPSIDE DOWN... so then
I lay there on the ground, the trike above
(A situation only masochists could love).
For seconds I lay still, then rolled it back,
Dismounting as it plopped back on the track.
Again, I wasn't hurt – no bruise or scrape –
But please don't think I had a clean escape.
Folks, I was entertainment, center stage,
Performing tricks that persons of my age
Should never do in public, if at all.
Smart alecks, wags and jokesters had a ball.
As soon as I stood up and people knew
That I had not been injured, Much Ado
About (well, almost) Nothing, I would say,
Became wisecrackers' order of the day.
Still, better that than someone who suggests
X-rays or other (more expensive) tests.
The moral of this tale, if there is one,
Is: Riding somewhat briskly can be fun,
But there's some risk at least that when you do,
The next guy we'll harass may well be YOU.
Last updated Sep 21 2007