single women in spaghetti straps
men in khakis, collars and ties
linger in line for $3 microbrews
as we soak up the sounds of summer
girls giggle and groove at the front
forgetting for once they’re so small
beer bubbles in belly, beckons a smile
carrying kids through crowds into crescents
the ride home through Victorian
Colonial Craftsman Contemporary
bike lanes on every side street
brings a breeze of love through Lexington
lovely to love, to live, to meet.
we are a collective force
vying against gravity
mentally physically wholeheartedly
literally
moving up a mountain
rainbow of helmets
carbon and aluminum
water bottle two-packs
and pedals
we are seventy
and seven
single
tandem
working legs
paraplegic arm miracles
everything in between
and though she and i
fit in like two chicks in a bar
outnumbered ten to one
we still outpace some
and are left in the
zipping dust down the mountain
by others
but we make it
fill out our story
a seven-month plot triangle
fast foothill rising action
steep-as-hell peak one climax
slow-and-steady peak two falling action
and the two mile flat
denouement
surrounded by screaming fans
endless cars with bike racks
cattle bells
and
victory
Soon to be gone
Never so beautiful
Ogling along the route
Windless blue sky
Dancing inside my skin
Always a good day to ride
Yesterday forever on my mind.
Strength within, strength without
Arching back to match the slope
Turns that take us up and up
U-shaped curves that bring us down
Rising without falling
Diligence redefined
Awesome adventure
Yearning for another ride.
i can’t see
the environmental impact
of the roads
ski areas
and mines along the way.
only the blue sky
long absent
longingly awaited
the sun hot on my skin
waterfalls pouring
from every crevice
of Rocky Mountain rock
and snow still standing
obstinately against all predictions.
i will take this pain in my muscles
to bed with me
as i listen to the roaring river
and try to remember
this perfect planet
we’re destroying
but for now
for today
i am blinded by blue.
i’m hard-pressed to find
my miles, my mind today,
my ambition to walk down the hall
my muscles are as hard
and weathered
as stones through a storm
it’s only 9:36.
i still have four classes and
a stack of papers choking me
my mind is as scrambled
as the scattered papers
left behind by a class of forty
soon i will change into layers
of cycling clothes, clip in my shoes,
and pedal my way to a better attitude.
Isabella: 58
Mythili: 47
Riona: 45
Tagalong: 10
Trailer: 8
Bicycle: 6
Kite: 0.1
Me: 120
(all in pounds)
Wind: 15 (mph)
Miles: 9
These numbers don’t add up.
But I beat the shit out of that hill today!!!
you can take my breath away
and keep me pedaling in your sway
but i’m not the kind who would give in
to a kick-the-butt, taunting wind.
you should know your metaphor
opening and closing every door
but really for me it’s just a ride
no matter how you try to skin my hide.
i will say that you tried your best
to strip me down and make me rest
but you’ve forgotten how strong i am
how rigorous i set my training program.
you’ll never know the miles i track
how hard i work to fight you back
how i tell myself that if i can beat you
that mountaintop will be mine to chew.
my fingers will be purple
the hills
roller-coaster-like
will come to an end
the breath escaping
in shadowy wisps
of early morning
will see the darkness fall
the sun rise
and this ride
will bring me
to one hundred twenty-five
in five days flat
i will remember
the cold
the stopping
the book ending
the music beginning
the day i won’t even miss
the frenectomy
the playground
the friend’s new baby
three girls vacuuming
sweeping
wiping glass
but the memory
will be in the purple skin
the fingers that made it
not the tight thighs
not the spinning tires
the fingers that made it through the cold
into the day
that begins like no other day.
beauty is measured in miles
time spent spinning tires
shifting gears and minds
muscles as tight as ropes
beauty is the gift i give today
the long-awaited gift of newness
the measurement of all the miles
behind me, all the miles i’ve yet to pedal.
how could i not see
after nearly ten years
in this house
that a four-mile pedal east
leads right into
cottonwood groves
tucked along creeks,
sweeping plains with hills
that carry me
roller-coaster style
into the wind,
and a view
on my homeward journey
contrasting the starkness
of yellow prairie
against the jagged peaks
that beckon non-natives
to call Colorado home?
how?
because i didn’t strap on
my helmet,
layer on my bike clothes,
and find the time to
chill-the-bones,
burn-the-muscles,
praise-the-beauty
ride.
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