Passage 29.
Top-Ten Mountain Bike Rides, #2.
If you can ride the stones,
you can ride in any
conditions. You must
stare and find your line.
Making eye-contact
is my specialty.
As I stare, therefore,
I am. Awkward, no?
Pedaling up to
Million-Dollar View,
I get a good look
at the fit woman
in shorts and tank top.
…
Stones! My Trek skidded
and the wheels slid out.
The crash did occur.
T-boned by someone
running a red light.
Focus, or its lack,
Karma, or luck. Then
Why am I here?
Compliments to staff,
EMTs, doctors,
Police, by-standers
offered three-fold help
on my eight-fold Way.
…
The trail undulates.
Table Rocks await.
On Blueberry Hill
my thrill was falling
in lust flying upside-down
like a Chagall
purple cow in thrall.
…
No way I’m staying
upright on that same
hill back to Spring Farm!
Deep as a black cave
Of bats and waters,
my doubt has no fixed
footing, save my warm
overestimating
of the beloved.
…
Mohonk Mountain House
to Minnewaska:
Bouncing over stones,
my ride distracts me
from reality.
No conscious effort.
To leave the one one
most desires fails
imagination,
like dreaming one’s death.
Yet one escapes,woke.
…
“You can do it!” yells
the father pointing
to me as I strain
unrelentingly.
Notwithstanding loss,
Just do it. Patterns
cannot be ignored,
cannot be embraced.
A woman is not
her history, her
story still being
written, sung, performed.
…
Awosting Falls roars
sprays, plunges, sucking
me toward the abyss.
“Pitched past pitch of grief”
means never to be
published in your life.
Cast your words upon
the waters, like roses
for the fleet. A priest
will sprinkle water
on your boat for a
safe return from the
Unconscious. Dive deep
and you will surface
gasping and ready
for fabulation.
…
Caution: Trail is closed!
Riding Mossy Glen
is more delicious
when off the table.
My renegade move—
Hiking Camino
de Santiago
with Carlotica.
Creatively lost,
we did it alone
without a tour group.
Navigating in
Portugues and in
Gallego, I loved
the stretch of my mind
as peregrinos.
Renegades no more,
we followed Saint James
to his tomb, with joy.
…
No peloton here.
It’s not that I ride
solo all the time.
Not many queue up
for not-too-extreme
carriage road rock rides.
There is one member
of my family, though…
A gregarious
introvert, I am
a male elephant
seeking family.
I don’t like labels.
Solitary fighter
yes, but only when
ten times the normal
testosterone wells
up in me as I look
for a mate. Sparring
for fun, hanging out
with the big old guys,
sharing scarce water
Is what I do best.
Rumbles, barks, snorts, cries ,
and roars advertise
I’m social and primed.
…
On Castle Point starts
my six-mile descent.
To go south, you must
go north. To go west,
you must go east. To
get down, you must get
up. To go high, you
must go low. To catch
love, you must let go.
