Saturday morning with no aim but lament.
I linger with angst at the pleasure I could have
If I left early to join the others on the road.
I need to eat, not prepared to take on the hill,
Just up the road where the others will be gone shortly.
I know them by sight, names float around freely in my head,
Fluttering like moths not landing were I could reach them.
Now, its no use, I have to pump up the tires, more time lost.
If I had woken up earlier, if I had gone to bed not watching a movie
If I had a plan, goes the lament.
I eat, I drink and now with slow progression the bike feels
Leaded as I take if off the stand. It needs an adjustment,
The squeak of the breaks the tilt of the bars, too many miles not caring.
I go back for my helmet, now later still.
The first click of the pedal gives an energetic spark to awaken
The muscles that drag the feet along. My mind is still
Wondering why even go, and now the second click and the gate
Has been open no going back. Legs are geared to move, happy and fresh.
I know I will find the folks who are slower than me. And soon
I may find, if chance has a say, a pace keeping soul willing to share
A few miles of draft, on the road. My mind is awake now, planning the trip
But the body knows better and it will have its say, stop at the shop to oogel the
Rides, all with less miles and grams then the steel stead I pedal.
Which way are you going, the questions are asked.
I pass, not knowing the answer, goes my lament.
I follow half feeling the needs back home, nor caring the direction.
Will the pace be too quick or too slow and I know
The hours will pass. So I silently slip and make no excuse.
I can now only hope to be passed by the time trial lady where my
Last bit of effort may hang on and get me home quick.
Now I am happy all effort and focus to stay just within reach
Of the wheel ahead. The eight miles fly and soon there’s a light.
The silent assent of the gift of draft, turns the ride round and I smile
If I had left early and made my plan then I could be riding still with the
Group who I know, the pacing and pulling and the sprints and cruising.
The lingering lament of pleasure for next time, I wipe down the bike from the sweat.
I smile the smile of no reason, that has no memory, that is only right
A signal that my lament is over, and I will convince myself I am worthy
Of a ride with others, a pride for fun, for speed, for the mutual benefit
Of pushing or pulling the limits of our own making.
A fresh drink and a cool shower ends my lament.