This pedalin’ version adapted by: Christopher Neubert
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the home
Not a creature was stirring, not even a gnome.
The Woolie Boolies were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of single track danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘wind proof vest, and I in my bike cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should arise,
But a miniature peloton, and eight tiny guys .
With a little old rider, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than descending Black Mountain his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Jeremiah! now, Sam! now, Garth and Dixion!
On, Edsal! On, Dicky! on, on McMahon and a Cold Mountain fixin!
To the top of the summit! to the top of the mountain!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the single track the coursers they flew,
With the burley full of bikes, and St Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the dirt
The breaking and bunny hopping of each knobbie chirp.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in full bike gear, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with mud and soot.
A bundle of bike accessories he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedaler, just opening his Hawg Camelback.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his arms overlap!
His cheeks were like rosy pink hubs, his nose like a cherry stem cap.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a ribbons of single track,
And the beard of his chin was trickled with flak.
The stump of a bite grip he held tight in his teeth,
And the Oakley shades it covered his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round calves,
That rippled when he laughed, like the parting of two halves!
He was slim and lean, a right jolly old 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,
And filled all the Woolie Boolies, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up to Bennet Gap he rose!
He sprang to his bike, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all road like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he pedaled out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
Happy Holidays to you and your family from PAS.
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