Best Bicycling Poems
I'm a pro-cyclist, and I despise people with flab
So it hurts that my folks don't walk, they'd rather take a cab.
I describe my races at the dinner table, but all they do
Is nod politely and say, "pass the stew"!
I took my nephew Chad cycling, such a pain:
As soon as we hit Salton hill, he began to complain
He asked why I couldn't leave him alone before his PC
Playing video games with his friend Tim McGee
He hadn't finished dungeons, a dragon he didn't yet slay,
How could some dumb trees compete with a world where heroes play?”
I said to my dubious nephew, "you got to get the blood to flow.
"You’ll find in sweat and aching limbs a truth that few will know,
Fresh air and nature beat any pixel combination
Look around you, take a breath, you'll feel a true elation.
We passed decomposing roadkill, Chad grimaced at the stink
But then a dark car passed, I gave the driver a wink
It was Chad's friend's dad, we had made a conspiracy
Chad would have a surprise; we'd meet Tim McGee.
Chad was about to quit but then his cell phone played Maroon Five.
He pulled it out, it was his friend, I hoped this trip could revive
Tim said he was waiting at Dunkin Doughnuts on Salton Hill crest
Chad brightened up, hit the pedals, sailed up the steep road west.
Chad outrode the wind, like a lion on the chase.
I couldn't keep up with him, how could I save face?
I was humiliated, in my mind I was the pro
I guess hard truths in life make a man grow.
We got to Dunkin Doughnuts, with a view way up high
I was wheezing and straining, and I wanted to cry
There was Tim and Chad sharing Cinnamon Sugar Surprise
Chad was just getting started; he wanted a burger and fries.
I had spent years eating arugula and sprouts
Organic fruit, and probiotics, and all those intense workouts
But I was beaten by Chad, who spends life before a screen
I've hung up my bike, life isn't just tough, it's also downright mean.
I took my bike on Amtrak, got off at Charlottesville.
Climbed up to the Blue Ridge parkway, the first of many a hill.
I met a Canadian Carpenter as I got closer to N.C.
He was cycling alone; his wife would meet him in Miami.
We shared some jokes and when food ran low
resupplied at the green valley of Shenandoah.
The Laurel by the road is pink and white in spring
But late fall had its charm as well, a bike ride for a king.
The carpenter told me that I biked too long
He was right: I gave out, it was he who was strong.
He kept riding south but not with me.
I turned back just 60 miles from the town of Cherokee.
All I really needed was a day or two to rest
But a foolish reflex made me give up the quest
I had told him I had to get back, which was a lie
He shook my hand; one last wisecrack and we said goodbye.
I got home and there was a letter waiting for me:
the Carpenter praised to the sky the stretch to Cherokee.
Sometimes clear, sometimes fog, on the ridgeline high,
Blue smoky mists blended mountains with the sky.
The road climbs above 6000 feet, there's red spruce and pine:
He said I had to go someday, the views were so sublime
But there were too few blocks of time when I was free
And for those times, storms raged above the land of the Cherokee.
Then dad got cancer, and mom got cancer too
Brothers sometimes shared the load, but the years still flew.
But I'm hoping that there is an opening yet
that I can reverse this particular regret
I'll tear the veil, warp time's bridge
And make my way to that lost Blue Ridge.
But you never know, you can't open every door
There are portents on every scale, and I'm afraid of what's in store.
In 1894, Annie climbed on a bike
Told the doubters to take a hike
Planned to cycle cross the planet, found sponsors, took a gun
Though she died 50 years after, her legend had begun.
How much is embellished, it's hard to say,
She used steamships to bridge gaps along the way.
But thousands of miles she rode alone,
While today's rebels seldom leave their phone.
She was an unlikely athlete, she weighed just 100 pounds
Her orthodox Jewish Husband didn't keep her in bounds
She hadn't ridden a bike until a few days before her trip
But she ignored those details and let adventure rip.
A sponsor, Londonderry water, gave her her name
And as Annie Londonderry, she won her fame.
From Paris to Marseille, a hurt foot rested on a handlebar
Still made it in two weeks, gave skeptics their first jar.
She reached Yokohama, took a boat to Frisco
Rode to L.A. Arizona, on a roll to El Paso
She rode beside tracks, a horse accident drew blood
But she hopped trains in Nebraska, because the roads were mud
In Iowa she hit a group of pigs, and broke her wrist
But she wasn't stopping now, no fading in the mist
She wore a cast until she made the goal and won the prize
Fourteen days before deadline, with triumph in her eyes.
You may never have heard of Mrs. Londonderry
She told lots of tall tales - roguish and merry
But still she was a pioneer, a racer and tough
An adventuress made mostly of the right stuff.
She had children, a business, yet we can agree
She showed the 1890's; how bold a spirit could be.
She didn't have money; she earned money along the way
with talks and ads, could you do that today?
Could you cycle through North Africa, Yemen, Saigon?
Or would ideologues stop you, from continuing on?
So for those who remember, let's give a Hurrah
For those who have moxie, and a dose of Chutzpah.
We planned for cycling in Northern Montana
Me, Marvin, Louis, and Anna
I had doubts about them, though they were healthy
For Anna could never resist a selfie
Marvin couldn't plan, Louis attracted disaster
Mainly because he always had to go faster.
Me, my only problem was I'm slightly bats
and guiding these guys was like herding cats.
We flew in with our bikes to Glacier Park
Started our day while it was still dark
Marvin wore a T-shirt, the fool didn’t care,
Sweating up the switchbacks, in the frosty air.
Then snowmelt got him soaked, and the road took a dive
Cold wind froze him; more ice than alive
Anna asked me to take a photo with a bear
I turned around, but she was no longer there.
Just a fatter grizzly, and a titanium frame
Maybe I can sell it, waste is such a shame.
Louis blasted past a "Road Closed" sign,
Rockfall twisted his bike like an old clothesline.
(Chorus)
Don’t be like us, leave the park for the bears
From my vantage point, I can say no-one cares
What starts as a dream can get very stark
And end under a tombstone mentioning Glacier Park.
Then I headed out on 'going to the sun'
the scenery was a heartache, the riding so much fun
The slope got steep, I had to zig zag wide
A fast cyclist came down; I veered off the side
I survived, don't know how or why
But my friends had joined that bike shop in the sky.
So I'll hang up my helmet, think of each friend
and how a dream of Montana drove them round their last bend.
I cycled to Hawthorne before the dawn,
Saw a deer on Taxter Road leading a fawn.
I reached a field of the kids little League.
Waited for the train, too pumped for fatigue.
The train passed by lakes of Croton Falls,
At Ten Mile River I heard a bird’s calls
At Wassaic, calmed down on Deep Hollow Road,
By purple flowers, a little stream flowed.
I cycled due west, for an outdoor transfusion.
Wethersfield like Brigadoon, but not an illusion.
Up its hill I pedaled, a knight on a quest,
But the statues of centaurs looked unimpressed.
Fountains flowed and flowers bloomed bright,
Well-dressed couples in the courtyards admired the sight.
More statues, eagles and children and men
Could have spent more time, but if not now, when?
I took Schaefer Road, counted side roads till the fourth.
Then zoomed on the asphalt, on Smithfield Road north.
But what goes down must go up, to switch valleys you climb,
Though conversely what ascend must descend, in time.
[chorus]
When the roads are quiet, and above hawks play.
Down I swoop, a nearsighted bird of prey.
Fields spread wide, like a golden sea,
New places to explore, calling to me.
Skipped Salisbury, entered Sharon, took highway 41.
To Amenia and Hitchcock Corners, a load of fun
Down one last hill, was it me who gave a shout?
Stood on my pedals, like a kid let out.
[end]
Back in Wassaic, out drained the ninja esthetic.
Now back to my life, but that’s not so pathetic.
Six days I work, putting food on the table.
Then I’m a weekend warrior, to ride into this fable.
Years ago, a young man in Brooklyn wheeled his bike out the gate.
His plan, to cross the land, exact route left to fate.
The first week was the hardest, scared, he doubted his quest.
It took all his courage, he says, to keep heading west.
To conquer fear, he says, we have to face it and just go.
Don't stop, commit, don't just drift with life's flow.
Ride a red road through a canyon and crest the next range.
Cross the river, flee the bear, embrace the change.
Much of bicycle touring is miserable, It's not all soaring.
Worse than miserable he adds, much is boring.
He doesn't gloss over this, he does confess.
But no better moments can you possess.
He advises you, when possible, to step into the unknown
Follow your passion, and someone might write a poem.
But while I admire Leon, and his trip does inspire.
He did ride into a real tornado, but there's now a metaphoric fire.
The jailbirds are loose, bad cartels cross the border.
To pursue freedom's road, you do need some order.
Myself, I've been warned off some roads in the Southwest.
Exploring is great, but prudence is best.
I marvel at the story he tells, of strangers trusting him.
Friends of friends gave him house keys, went out on a limb.
I admire that he could join up with new pals on bikes.
Or pause his trip for side-trip hitchhikes.
I couldn't do it, that's for sure
Maybe that leaves me bitter, maybe leaves me poor.
But the most amazing thing to me, that makes me shudder...
Is his diet on the trip - some beer, and mostly peanut butter.
Don't tell Leon McCarron that I wrote this rhyme
He had a great trip, why ruin his good time?
We’re bicycling; we’re bicycling.
With the wind we fly -
an open road ahead of us;
above us azure sky.
To the country we will go,
pedaling with zeal.
Fields of grains we’re going past.
Alive and free we feel.
Chorus:
Oh, isn’t this a thing of bliss
to do on such a day like this?
To travel far with great companions!
By afternoon, we’ll see the canyons.
And then, we’ll have to turn around
to happily be homeward bound.
We’re bicycling; we’re bicycling.
See ahead the hill!
Be happy since it's going down,
that hill’s now a thrill.
There’s so much fun beneath the sun.
It’s like we’re in flight.
Breathe fresh air and relish nature’s
every sound and sight.
Chorus:
Oh, isn’t this a thing of bliss
to do on such a day like this?
To travel far with great companions!
By afternoon, we’ll see the canyons.
And then, we’ll have to turn around
to happily be homeward bound.
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.
Jay was tired of spending the best hours of his day
sitting in front of a glowing PC
of coloring his best years in beige and gray
So to his wife he made the plea.
They shipped bicycles across the ocean
Began a life of constant motion
People were supportive, in Muslim lands too
A family gave them a surprise concert on day 342.
On day 359 on top of a Kyrgyz pass
Girls gave them wildflowers from the gold grass
Such kindness in the midst of Kyrgyzstan
convinced Jay of the basic goodness of man.
He wrote that evil is make believe, a concept invented
It's just complex factors that makes one resented
People, he wrote, are generous and kind
He was wrong and right, a lacuna in his mind.
The couple's last day was day 369
It started panoramic, it started fine
A car passed them, made a sharp U-turn
ran them over on purpose, too late to learn.
Islamic State posted a video, that hard band
They vowed to kill the disbelievers that overran their land
Fanatics sitting on a slab, by an aquamarine lake
Such a scenic panorama; there must be some mistake.
I envy Jay and Lauren's travel romance
like The Pamir Highway or the south of France
The urge to explore, to always push for more
To see the beauty of the earth, the surprises still in store.
There is no defense for good men, but of bad men to believe the worst
The bible says when a man comes to kill you, kill him first
The blood-soaked pages of history are not just misunderstanding
Common sense is needed, before a hard and bitter landing.
So in life's trek, avoid a premature end of the line
Its great until you reach day 369.
Waited for the sun to go down and the rise of dark
So I could cycle through Joshua tree National Park
My light shone bright, my pedals whirled:
The desert became another world.
(chorus)
I got into the flow got into the groove.
The trees almost seemed to move
The sky was a field of white blue stars
Boulders were like sculptures on a crater in Mars.
A coyote crossed the road, a snake gave a rattle:
I can't stand snakes, I shuddered in the saddle
A car shot by at 60 miles per hour
I swerved into a cactus, at least it had a flower.
No water packed—I had played it cool,
The desert answered: You’re the fool.
I pulled out my cell phone, to call a rescue team
But there was no service, like a bad dream.
So I immersed myself into the eerie sculpture garden
No one to call for help, no one to ask for pardon.
I learned to be a grownup, learned not to cry.
Brought out my inner resources, under that prehistoric sky.
Now I'm back in L.A., where my worth runs cheap,
And the homeless drift and all need sleep,
Where daily life is full of stings,
And scorpions lurk when the doorbell rings.
The politicians promise goodies, but deliver doom
I get claustrophobic, I need more room.
Can't get more obscured, can't get more stark
Might as well ride the desert, in the star studded dark.