On Riding a Bicycle

The whole idea of it makes me jittery,

Like I am about to go on a space mission to Mars.

The whole idea of having an entirely new field of opportunities,

A whole new way to get around,

A whole new speed.

You tell me that I can't go fast,

But who can hold back the wind?

Who has the power to halt a storm?

Now I can control pure speed.

Pure, white speed, flashing from my bicycle,

Coursing and flowing through my veins.

I become one with the machine,

Its power is mine, our abilities mesh and fuse.

But now, away from my bike,

I am weak. Like a baby away from its mother,

I feel the absolute helplessness of being alone.

I am incomplete, vulnerable, a child.

I long to return to the freedom, the light.

I get up, and walk to my bicycle.

This is the beginning of pure thrill.

I whisper to my bike,

Run my hands along its frame.

It returns my greeting, happy that we are together once more.

As I step over the seat and grip the handles,

My heart races as I remember.

Soon I will be there again, wind tearing past me,

My bike will be with me, once more complete.

It seems like I am flying.

I see clouds whipping past my head,

I reach up and touch the sun.

I am free.

Freedom rushes into my body with the wind.

I am free.

I pedal on and on.

My bicycle and I are free.

Learn more about this author, Brian Troyer.
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