Early in the season
I hopped on the mountain bike. It's been long enough, into training to know, how I'm shaping up.
To get out and flex in the mirror. Trot a bit.
I sat up hill to the shadows, with the wind to my back.
on the stoop of the Valley Green Inn.
Still fresh, and wanting to ride more.
Hitting up the gym, time riding indoors, or outdoors at cold temperatures.
I miss the simple fact of lining up in the grid, starting, being placed.
There should be a thought of beauty. A view. from a window, a road,
someplace,
that holds special.
A sound, smell, that lingers, distinct, as a name.
A memory of a course, so well designed, that, the inside of the tape, that little,
9 foot wide path, is well thought out beauty.
It flows, it makes me battle, or feel like I'm getting away, drop the dudes behind me.
and It may have,
that those 3 feet become 10, 10 yards, then 20 seconds, dropping them.
A pedal stroke, lunge at the line, half a wheel ahead.
I've labored tonight for words, a number of hours, just sitting,
It's not like the sap just comes out of a tree, plug in a spigot, turn the handle and fill the bucket.
I'll continue to work hard, maybe the mundane days are the best.
The bell will ring, I'll stand, the stool will be pulled out.
Cheers Monday.
dlowe
No comments:
Post a Comment