We rode with Brandon Case, a local recumbent cyclist from Pratt to Greensburg, Kansas. On his way back from work he wrote this poem for us and I think it is pretty clever. Enjoy.

Wind Dancers

Twenty Lycra-clad riders guided by a Lone Star

Rolled across the Kansas prairie.

Caught on a thunderstorm at Cheney Lake,

That night was a little scary.

The next morning,

They headed for Pratt.

That little town was where it's at.

Ate their fill

And chewed the fat

(except for the vegetarians).

Then along came Greensburg,

Where their voices could be heard

Down in a big deep well.

Thank goodness no one fell.

The last time I saw them

Was on the yellow brick road,

After a meal of chicken and beans

That were cold.

Piloting their cobalt blue wind dancers,

Looking to put an end to cancer.