For over fifty years, since 1964, I have been cycling a variety of bicycles: regular hand-me-down two-wheelers, a home-made chopper, racing bikes, sit-up-and-beg three-gear, US cruiser bikes and now a Dutch-style bike with eight gears. I have long cycled in suburbs, cities and rural settings.
Pushing pedals in lowest gears:
no delay till weather clears,
breeze blown biking, slightly unwise,
badly blurred bespectacled eyes.
Eight gears replace previous three,
I’m jetsam trashed on storm tossed sea,
should i sensibly walk, perhaps wait –
when last did Hemmings hesitate?
Doomed Don Quixote determination,
all-weather-cylist, noble vocation,
stubbornly propelled, fat tires roll:
onward, upward, homeward goal!
Sweat from muscular strain required,
usually appropriate clothing attired,
not rain cape donned, tight fastened,
much preferred old-fogey fashion!
For fifty years these feet pushed pedals,
not macho fast, I don’t seek medals,
oft cycling into North Wind blowing,
see long red scarf jet-stream flowing!