8.5. The Naming of Bikes.

Still, somehow, in Barcelona. Really dragging my heels at this point.

The game’s afoot! So, as a treat for you all before Sunday’s entry, I’d like to present an amuse bouche: The Naming of Bikes.

[I’d also like to thank – in advance – the estate of T.S.Eliot for not suing me for copyright infringement.]

The Naming of Bikes is a difficult matter,

  It isn’t just one of your holiday games;

You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter

When I tell you, a bike must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.

First of all, there’s the name manufacturers offer,

  Superficially emblazoned across their frames,

Such as Dogma, Emonda, Domane or Monterra—

  All of them sensible everyday names.

There are fancier names, cycling’s legendary frays—

  Eponymous races hint pedigree claims:

Such as Strada Bianche, San Remo, Roubaix—

  But all of them sensible everyday names.

But I tell you, a bike needs a name more particular,

  A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,

Else how can they climb a mountain perpendicular, 

  Or cascade, freehub purring, down the other side?

On names of this kind, I can give you advice:

  Names like Barbie, Madonna, or La Ponderosa—

Bikey McBikeface when left to public device— 

Philosophically stretching as far as Spinoza.

But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,

  And that is the name that you never will guess;

The name that no human research can discover—

  But THE BIKE THEMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.

When you notice your bike scything silently on,

  With an absence of rattling, creaking complaint,

Their mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation

  Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of their name:

       Their ineffable effable

       Effanineffable

Deep and inscrutable singular name.

Madonna – just named – or so I thought…