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06 September 2011

Cyclist - a poem

I pump the tires.
Place the bottles where they belong.
Hear the click of my right shoe. Half a pedal stroke, a second click. I'm off.
The cool air flows over my arms. I am moving.
The first minutes offer a snapshot of what my ride will be. The first gear chosen tells me how my legs will feel.
I find my spot on the saddle and fix my gaze forward.
My mind clears and I settle into a rhythm. In the same moment a flash of confusion tells me I've just begun, I've ridden for hours, it is time to stop, I want more. This is experience talking.
I've ridden a bike a lot. My body remembers ever mile as one.
It is a knowing comfort on a bike, a place to feel at home.
The notion of a new mile covered, a new corner turned, has me longing for more.
I turn the Pedals. I am a road cyclist.
With a long way to go.

~ poem by Karen Eileen Rakestraw (Pedal Dancer)

north on Hwy 131, Colorado.  Image by PedalDancer.com
One day after the Labor Day holiday, and Fall has come to the Rocky Mountains, our weather has changed. I want to hold onto Summer.