Ode to the Air King

Kitima and I have been hitting the trainer hard (her more so than I) in an effort to improve our bike fitness for the coming season but the prime problem is heat dissipation. At higher wattage outputs we were sweating like pregnant nuns. So I opted for the nuclear solution and purchased the Air King (seen below in all its glory). A fan so powerful that even on the lowest setting it will blow freckles from your face.

Scooby looks up in awe at the mighty fan in the lower left of the photograph. Before this photograph was taken he was a chocolate lab but the Air King blew the color off of him. Kitima is just happy to be done with her workout so we could go out for sushi. Her top was previously a long-sleeve but the sleeves were blown into oblivion.

I had some trepidation in ordering the Air King. Many things proclaim themselves to be the King of this or the King of that and fall fantastically flat on their faces after tremendous marketing bombast and braggadocio: The Plow King; Martin Luther; The Fisher King; The Food King; quotes like "I'm king of the world"; don't even get me going on the Mattress King...the band Kings of Leon are pretty rockin' though.

After many a breezy ride I concluded that the only way to properly praise the regal blower was via an ode. You remember those right? Ode on a Grecian Urn and Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats and Ode to Stephen Dowling Bots by Mark Twain surely and swiftly pop into your skull. Below you will find one stanza of ten lines. All lines are in iambic pentameter except the eighth which is iambic trimeter. I won't bore you with the rhyming scheme as it is self-evident to a bright crew of readers like yourself...and before criticizing the fact that I only have one stanza and that a proper ode has more than one stanza I would politely suggest any of my gentle readers to write more than one stanza on a fan. I also contemplated a limerick but the rhyming options for "truck" would have made this blog's rating restricted.

Without fanfare you came brought by brown truck.

You were easy to build complete with wrench.

Air King spin long, rotate and blow with luck.

Mighty tri-blade whir fast; remove sweat stench.

Turbo-prop sound makes all leer up to sky.

Zephyr towards two bikes spinning in place.

Beyond zone six the King will not cower.

Pedal faster or die!

Wind speed never seen; freckles blown off thy face.

Secret weapon raises threshold power.