Passage 28.
Top-Ten Mountain Bikes Rides, #3.
1.
The mysterious
memorial wreath
set between two trees
someone refreshes
for reasons unknown.
Every year sets forth
her devotedness.
2.
Keep on maintaining!
Budweiser beer cans
Charcoal stuffed in bags.
Overhead branches
I snip to to the edge.
My preparations
merit accolades?
3.
“What are you doing?
You’re keeping it clear
for us dog walkers?”
“You’re a real loser.
Have nothing to do?
You think you’re so great?”
Punchy drunkenness.
4.
No selfies taken!
No Go-Pro records
my exploits and spills.
Snags of stinging branches
whip across my face.
Weightless straight-running
acceleration.
5.
Twelve inches of snow
hide my gliding skis.
Bowed boughs shake and shed
packets of powder
sliding down my neck.
Mice, deer, and rabbits
print their whereabouts.
6.
Four deer explode
out of the brambles
near trails Two, Three, Four.
One cuts off my path.
No hunters fire
shotguns to send them
into extinction.
7.
Someone has been here
to saw and to haul.
That huge oak is gone.
Did rangers chop it?
My bike path now cleared,
my sidecut has no
technicality.
8.
When fire trucks came,
I was smelling smoke.
A campfire crept
up and threatened homes.
Where did the deer go?
The zoo’s peacocks wailed
annihilation.
9.
Riding out of Ten,
I saw Tai Chi players
Saturday mornings.
Tim, Tony, and Lucy
greeted me with Chi
in slow and mindful
synchronisation.
10.
“Torn rotator cuff”
is what Doc pronounced.
Trail Nine was too fierce.
To personify
it was to accuse
rocks of treacherous
human obtuseness.
11.
Like a silent lord,
the red-tailed hawk swoops
over Trails Nine and Ten.
Squirrels and rabbits
scurry for cover.
Blue jays mob the hawk
with ferocity.
12.
“It’s like I’m going
to the gym, it’s hard”
breathes a new rider.
“Climbs are stiff, but short.
You must trust your bike
as you spring up for
verticality.”
13.
With seventeen trails,
the combinations
can never exhaust
my riding pleasures.
One trail took two years,
another three years,
with tenacity.
14.
Conservative, I
ride with precision.
Not a hammerhead,
or one for trials trails,
I thrive on routine.
It’s my own secret
of fluidity.
15.
Twice, I rode in snow
just to feel the grip,
slide, and futile
purchase of wet brakes.
Gnarly, rad, and sick
aren’t my truest
vocabulary.
16.
Combo bike -Tai Chi,
combo hike and ski,
combo ride and prune.
Disappear in woods
re-emerge on sand.
I conquer my fears
with Relaxed Intent.
17.
A tree in Van Saun
falls, blocks the gully
I just had skied on.
I could still skitter
along the gnarled
mass, but see it as
my valediction.
