Biker Bob

In the town of Wheelie-Woo, where the roads all twist and bend,
Lived a lad named Bikey-Bob, with a bike, his truest friend.
With pedals bright and handlebars high, and a bell that went ding-ding,
He’d zoom through lanes and meadows green, as happy as a spring.


One day the sun was golden-hot, the sky a brilliant blue,
Bob said, “I’ll ride beyond the hills, to see what’s strange and new!”
He packed a sack with jelly snacks, a map of crinkly lines,
And off he sped on two round wheels, past oaks and twisty pines.


The road went up, the road went down, it wiggled left and right,
He pedaled past the Moo-Cow Fields, beneath the kite-birds’ flight.
But then—oh my!—a fork appeared, a choice he hadn’t planned,
One path was smooth with flowers sweet, the other rough with sand.


“Now which to take?” Bob scratched his head, his helmet all askew,
“The smooth looks nice, but sandy’s wild—oh, what’s a biker to do?”
He flipped a coin, it twirled and spun, and landed on its side,
So Bikey-Bob, with a laugh and shrug, chose sand for his wild ride.


The wheels went crunch, the bike went bump, the grit flew in his face,
But Bob just grinned and pedaled on, embracing the mad race.
Through dunes he soared, past cacti tall, with lizards darting quick,
Till up ahead, a shimmer gleamed—a tower made of brick!


“Who builds a tower in the sand?” Bob wondered with a frown,
He parked his bike, hopped off to see, and tiptoed all around.
A voice called out, “Hey, Bikey-Bob! You’ve found my sandy lair!
I’m Gearshift Gert, the desert’s queen, with sprockets in my hair!”


She twirled a wrench, her goggles flashed, her bike was pure machine,
With gears that whirred and chains that sang, the wildest he’d ever seen.
“I ride the sands,” said Gert with pride, “where no one dares to roam,
But you, dear Bob, on two brave wheels, have wandered far from home!”


They shared a laugh, they shared some snacks—jelly for Gert, oh yes!
Then tuned their bikes and raced the dunes, a dusty, joyous mess.
The sun sank low, the stars blinked on, Bob knew it was time to go,
He waved to Gert, “I’ll ride again, through sand or sleet or snow!”


Back home he zoomed, through Wheelie-Woo, with tales to tell and cheer,
Of sandy paths and Gearshift Gert, and biking far and near.
So if you ride where roads divide, and hear a ding-ding call,
It’s Bikey-Bob, on his trusty steed, inviting one and all!