Hail to thee, oh Late-season Fitness!
Would that I had but one single witness
To the feats I accomplish in your sunlit realm
As my bike conquers mountains, with me at the helm
I fly down the flats like a Roubaix-bound Boonen
And dream I lay waste to my Pro-Tour opponents
No peak is too high, no town is too far
But then you recede like a 5 a.m. star...
How tragic! how young! how lamented you are!
Then I sit at my desk, just dreaming of spring
Oh, Late-season Fitness! You sweet, fickle thing!
~ Composed upon the boneshaker, 9/15/09