Mark Springer Poet Rhyme

Lessons from the road

I took up bicycling because I couldn't run
At best it provided scenery and fun.
A sense of achievement cresting the hill
The fun of swooping like an eagle on the kill.

First lesson learned: if you happen to be slow,  
Old ladies on recumbents aren’t your ego’s foe.  
If you carry a reputation bubble, someone will pierce the skin:  
Better to be yourself; it’s not a race to win. 

I cycled with a group, into an old town in the West
We left our bikes unlocked, the place seemed safe and blest.
Then the best bike disappeared, a thief had a new ride
We chipped in to buy a new one, as the owner cried.

I took a wrong turn one time, as the group continued on:
I went up a mountain road, by a golden sun.
Something seemed wrong and a feeling of unease grew:
Then the sign at the summit was a final clue.

I learned to stop and check the map; that time is wisely spent.  
Why lose a silver dollar when you could lose a cent?  
Turning back from sunk costs is sometimes the way to go.  
I reached camp by sunset, sore from head to toe. 

I told a cousin about cycling, it seemed insane to him
Just turning wheels, till the empty mind goes dim.
I told a cliche of freedom, but the point he couldn't see.
His Ford Mustang could get him faster from point A to point B.

I learned when I was tired, danger flashed code red: 
Cutting corners is easy, and easy can mean dead.  
A pleasant ride can turn suddenly to pain,  
A bright auspicious morning to a night of freezing rain.

A fellow told me of a ride his high school friends once took
They reached the Montauk end, no need for a guidebook
Them took the ferry to New London, let the pedals rip.
Now they're in their sixties, but they still talk about that trip.

There's a shrinking world of places safe to go
Too many cars, too much crime, and ideology overflow.
But for now, it can be a pleasant way to spend some time
The open air, the open road, on your shoulders the sunshine.

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