Here's one I wrote a few years back... not a tip as such, more of an actual poem, supposedly from the point of view of a cyclist who has come to terms with his own mortality: (orig thread here:
http://www.cyclechat.net/threads/byron-shelly-keats-etc.51906/#post-1012778 )
Oh! Bury me in lycra!
With a bike-shaped brooch above my heart
Take me not by motor-hearse
But pulled by trike, upon a cart
Give my spare parts so some young buck
May make a start upon the road
Take the pannier of life
And balance carefully his load
Clean your rims, my friend! For you may find
When you clear the hilly top
That the brakes of life may seize
And take you to a messy stop
Oh! Bury me in lycra!
So when I get to heaven’s gate
St. Peter in his wisdom
Can take the piss out of my weight
Take my ash, and let it fly,
O’er the land of Shimano
But save some for Italia fair
And the fields of Campagno(lo)
So take this Cateye, let it shine
In the dark, where’er ‘tis found
And fettle not my bottom bracket
Afore ye lay me in the ground
