Bikolloween

Get dressed for street mayhem

Green makeup from patty’s day

Old coat and wig, tights, fun hat

 

Ready to glide like the silver surfer

But on a bike as a troll with tights

More like a bum on a tricycle

 

A bike will fall over and get walked on.

A tricycle becomes a tripping hazard

Left unattended in a mob, what a parade.

 

Dummies, rummies, weirdoes and pie

Puppets on stilts, people with string

New York’s Halloween street party

 

I will just dip and dash at the edges

Who, what? and what? and what?

It marches, look! Crash, skirt in the air

 

Oh, the parade at night of fright and fun

Halloween on feet or wheels

Lets carry eels to a party naked!

 

You’ll just have to see it to know

Ignore the barricades and join

The lingering spectator trash.

 

Its over too soon on the street

Long parties into the night

Crowds on the subways

 

I’ll bike.

Bicycle Woman.l

Bicycle women

Race By

Man on a bike hits me.

Car kills bike

Bike kills ped.

Cops give tickets, solution.

poison in the air sickness in the food

Make more  roads of prehistoric death

Great for skinny tires, bad for everything else

My carbon frame is not sequestered

The Bike Bell

The bike bell hangs on the handle bars rattling because the screws are loose

I can tighten them and with my thumb push the small lever hard enough

that I can just hear

A ringt, ringt, click, over the echoing wind in my ears.

What bell would be best to attach to these bars. Many choices.

Do I want the bell to be pleasing to see and classic to hear?

Is it shinny chrome or shaped like a bug with stubby antenea.

Does it ring just once with a snap of a finger, DING!

Maybe it will be big and resound a two tones, DING-DONG in succession.

Will it be obtrusive to the eye with the smooth leather bar tape

Can I hide it under or behind, so I don’t have to feel it is causing too much windage.

I willl attach it to the bar ends and no one will see it right away,

But it will be at the ready when I am in the drops heading for the intersection with all the people.

Ding-ding-ding-ding! D-d-ding! I will have to yell to get anyones attention.

The bell is regulation, but not much use after 15 miles an hour.

Against cars it’s useless, for the car can’t hear and the driver

Is listening to music inside, sealed tight against the weather and sounds of the road.

If I get arrested its because I got his attention.

I make angry drivers on the road, and get angry at them.

The bell is pretty, regulation, and dangerous in a sour mood.

How Fast Do I Really Need

How fast do I really need to go.

Obviously as fast as possible if I am not carring anything.

On my own I can really fly.

Loaded down I am still moving faster than if I were walking.

How much do I really need to carry

Well, only a spare tube and pump, and water maybe when alone.

All my groceries for a week would do.

An hours worth of travel time would not be onerous.

What is the wieght, time, speed ratio?

That depends on the hills, you can’t make up time going down,

With a load heavy going up.

Hills are great for perspective of mind and space.

The flats are great but vanish in dispare ahead out of sight around corners.

Florida is the place for this.

I would rather take the hills and cold then bake on a distant mirage.

So, how fast to carry sixty pound.

Slow is slow up such a hill under a load of food and goods.

Fast is fast but the friction in the face.

But the feet still go round and round and in the end you are still going home.

Pedaling or coasting along is still bliss.

I will carry the load or pick up the pace to match the pulsing in my heart.

The wheels, the road, the tires and frame,

Its bliss in the mind no ardor, angst nor anger, who cares its rain or slow.

Do You Sit In A Cubical

Do you sit at a cubical wanting the elevator to come and take you down to the street.

Like a robot programed to match boxes to numbers on a sheet.

If so, I do understand and watch the belts and machines like a continuous path of rubber.

When I cock my head to the side I see a Mobius strip running around a building never stopping.

If I put my bike on the path I would dash in one place at my station, dodging the boxes and hopping.

That would be my last day, and oh how I would like that, to ride out the door.

Never to see those belts and carts moving as I stood in one place poking and poking,

Envisioning the belts flying out the door, a continuous path to follow, a private road through the land

For a bicycle and rider escaping the life, the factory, the cubical office confined to one place.

A Man and His Bike

A man and his bike
A man and the sea
The lady competes with such desires.
Long hours no matter natures breath or spume
He comes back home to his love companion.
No difference between entities, wife, bike or sea.
All share the perils , sweat, freedom harsh treatment, easy running and care.
There’s no completion the sea will take him away for longer than ever.
And yet he returns to the bed or bike.
Is it no matter or sadder to her he makes a choice.
Home is the draw the reason to go out in the first place
Returning marking the love of both.
The waves fade and the land rolls under the wheels
Always toward home and the love making it better.