Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the shop, not a creature was stirring, not even ECs grey wind-blown mop. The DH tires were hung, by the window with care, in hopes that summer soon would be there. The groms were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of road-gaps danced in their heads. And Don in his kerchief, and I in my flat billed cap, had just settled our hex wrenches for a long winters nap. When out by the dirt jumps there arose such a clatter! I sprang from my work bench to see what was the matter! Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore down the tires, threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the newly packed dirt mound, gave a luster of midday to the objects before me on the ground. When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old ripper so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be that shredder St. Nick. More rapid than Danny Hart, his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: Now, Maxxis! now, Sram! now Thomson and Fox! On, Deity! on, Easton! on, TroyLee and Rock Shox! To the top of the shop! To the top of the wall! Now shred away! shred away! shred away all! As the leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; so up to the shop-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of bike parts, and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, through the front door St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed in full race kit, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with bike park dirt and soot. A bundle of parts he had flung on his back, and he looked like an industry rep opening his pack. His carbon bars, how they twinkled! His full face, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his goggles the color of a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard on his chin was as bright as the snow. The stump of a vape pen he held tight to his face, and the smoke, it encircled his shoulders, like an Atlas neck brace. He had a broad face and a round little belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full chamois jelly. He was chubby and plump, I 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 shelves with shiny parts, then turned with a jerk; laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, out the front door he strode. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like Missy Giove The missile But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night! Merry Christmas Missoula.
Posted on: Wed, 24 Dec 2014 18:23:38 +0000
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