When I ride my bikeon familiar routes
where grade is noticed
in the burn of thigh
the gasping of lung
the pounding heart of ear
and hills are rendered
in the blurry sweat
of salt released
frailing
precious
drops
escaping
from my bowed chin
I'm not riding the road
as much
as the memory
of the road,
is riding me
if you understand this
then you know
my fear
my reluctance
to saddle up
mount my steed
and ride among the eidolons
of corners not cut
and downhill gambits lost
lost as the lycra shredded
and asphalt embedded
tattooed scars
on hips and elbows
a little less
of body
a little more
in mind
these heavy
memories
these stained
neurons
paths woven, my
knots of remembrance
of those moments
when control surrendered
and the second
from air to ground
defies proper accounting
but most of all,
perhaps the memory
most haunting,
forever the shadow
on my wheel,
of the rider
who rides now,
only in the
mists
of
my
mind
10 comments:
It has been a while since I checked your (and other's) blog and this poem is great. Hope, you are ok, though, and only lost some skin (and confidence maybe)? Take care.
Groover, been awhile since I last crashed, which I suppose means I ain't riding hard enough! :-D
Hope all is well with you. Nice to see the visit.
it means you're riding smarter ;-)
lots of memories on the bicycle...and lots of time to reconcile them....
OB, not sure about smarter, but more cautious, no doubt. After my last crash it occurred to me that no one was paying me to ride and speed was something I could afford to read about. :-D
Wow this site has changed. The author has a suntan and the tag line has "other general flirtatious happenings"!
You know what they say about getting back on and taking control.
Clea, is that a proposition? Or just my over-active imagination. :-D
Crashing. I'm familiar with it. Broken bones...
For no good reason, it's gone.
Each day follows the one before
And it feels like broken bones.
Twenty two years later, it still aches
Where my collar bone broke into five pieces.
Thirty miles an hour and the fool
with a bandana around his calf takes a tumble
and I'm airborne.
It feels just like that...
For no good reason.
Beautiful poem Badger. Felt it in tightening of the skin on the back of my neck and from the hip bone that still aches from giving bone marrow twenty years ago, the old fashioned way--with a horse needle. :-D
I'm not riding the road
as much
as the memory
of the road,
is riding me
That is so true, most of the time...memories often ride us more,and make us the beasts of burden...
Mona, sometimes I wish I lived more in the world and less in my head.
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