The day is clear,
....the head winds mild,
....it should be a great ride – thirty miles, the goal.
Thank god, the Octane¹ shorts still fit
....despite a few winter pounds.
Getting old, such a bitch!
Crap! Buds on the trail.
Thankfully, it hasn't rained.
They shouldn't slow me down.
……….My rpms at 120
My heart at 100.
The cadence perfect.
Yeah, not bad!
I could really make some time
....if it weren't for the Sunday riders
....and walkers who don't stay to the right.
Don't they understand some of us are cyclists!
Look at the guy on the recumbent.
He is not going anywhere fast.
“Passing” – leaving him in the dust.
Oh no, a walker oblivious to everything.
“On your left!” Thank god, she moved over –
....I barely had to cut cadence.

My, he is riding fast! He could hit someone.
All bent over,
............must be heading to a fire.
That sure looks like work.
And, such a serious look on the face,
………This day is magnificent.
The smell of spring is in the air.
I can hear the crunch of the buds
............with each step.
The winter has been so long–
good to be alive
............despite the stiffness in the leg.
Oh well, we all age.
It's good to get the kinks out.
Here comes one of those funny looking bikes.
He looks comfortable – even spoke to me.

What a glorious day for a walk.
But, give me my recumbent today.
No imaginary goals to meet or rpms to maintain.
Simply, sit and spins taking in all of nature’s bounty.
Five miles or ten, we will see.
Can life get any better?
Let the speed demons pass,
....slow down for the walkers,
....greet when passing – share your joy.
To each their own.
Life need not be a rush
....for today, the ride is the journey.

^1. Expensive biking shorts

Comments: For many years, I was an "A" type rider as briefly described in the first section – though I usually rode on roads versus trails. Thus, the imaginary dialogue by the first rider was not so imaginary. Now, I ride the recumbent and only wish I had started sooner. But the poem really goes much deeper than these three dialogues. It deals with acceptance of diversity, not only on the trail but life in general.

There for All

What is it about spring
....that causes the blood to stir?
Is it the clean freshness in the air
....or the explosion of greens
....upon winter worn hues?
The long winter sleep fades
....into a spectrum of vibrancy.
The croaks and mating calls
....of frogs in nearby ponds
....proclaim to the world
....that new life is soon to follow.
A mere glance at the blankets of wildflowers
....conjure whimsical thoughts,
....that exclaim,
....“Let the cares be gone!”
The blood stirs sensing
....the eternalness of the circle of life
....and opening awareness
....that rebirth is available to all.

Comments: Spring always conjures primordial feelings within me. For whatever reasons, I always feel so alive. I try to capture some of those feelings in the poem.

Eyes drooping
Shoulders slumped
Conversations muted.
“Don’t leave your
....bags unattended.”
....blares through the groggy haze.
A young mother with her one-year old,
....managing well by herself,
....catches my eye.
Memories flash back
....to what seems like yesterday
....when two readied a son
....for the long journey
....to the Land of the Long White Cloud.*
My shoulders become straighter
....as a smile crosses my lips.

* New Zealand

Comments: When our son Craig was only four, he visited New Zealand for the first time. Luckily, he traveled well, never disturbing other passengers. As I travel, I often see, primarily lone mothers, traveling with their young ones. I am empathetic toward them and the stress they experience. "Will my child travel quietly?" is often a question on the mind. No one wants to experience the glares coming from other passengers. (I suspect many of them are from individuals who have no children.)

On Another Trip

The retiree sits,
....a smile on his face,
....hearing frantic cell phone calls –
....each dealing with life and death situations
....or so it seems.
Suited men and women,
....maximizing time,
....scurry, even when seated,
....to fulfill their corporate responsibilities.
His grin broadens–so glad
....he missed the 24/7 connectivity mantra
....and its abeyance
....to the God of Productivity.

Comments: While I have not joined the retired ranks, I, too, sit watching people in the airport and marvel at the dynamics unfolding before me. I still remember articles in Time and other magazines asking what Americans will do with all their spare time. Hmn, that appears to be a mute question now.

Flight Attendants on Delta 4027

They walk down the aisle
....so young,
....smiles bringing warmth
....to an early dawn flight.
Their careers have just begun.
Where will the miles take them,
....to far off lands,
....to destinations still unknown?
Will they be flying twenty years from now
....or will another path unfold before them?
All is uncertain.
But on this morning
....a traveler thanks them
....for the service given
....and the creation of a brighter day.

Comments: When flying is part of your life, the type of service you receive on a flight can impact your attitude. Despite a full flight, all crowded together in economy, the flight became much pleasanter because of two gracious flight attendants. At the end of the flight, I gave them a draft of the poem as token of thanks. (However, I fear they thought I was "hitting on them.")