Wednesday, May 16, 2012

My Shadow

Hipsters, carbon racers,
Old school dirt hounds
Young, old, noobs,
The air is Mexican oil cooking
The smiles and chatter drift
Through the parking lot

The wheels of many tribes roll
Past the Capital
Past the the Thai restaurant
Past the BBQ guy
and the half priced chicken
Left at the Fairgrounds
The black hands wave from the porch and sing a single note
Past the log fence

Cars are polite
Cars pass
Cars beep
There are too many of us
They have no power
We ride in the comfort of the horde
We ride in rare total safety

All is quieting on Tram Road
It becomes a ride of silence
Weight of tragedy is with us now
We reach the spot
Under the sky that won't be ignored
Purple with back lit clouds
The fire of the setting
It was a beautiful day ending
with an explosion of light

Here on this shitty gravel strewn ground
Here in this shitty place to die
The trash blows across the monument
of paper and chain and white paint
A bike should never be a sad thing
It is today
Here a father left his son
His son saw it all
Here on this shitty ground
He had to sit on rocks and wait for help
My son is beside me, we rode tonight
It was all fine... till just now

The words drowned out by the cars
Jeep with big tires
Killed the sentences
Of respect
The cars are too close to us
They come at the worst time
They never stop.

A full uphill sprint
Shakes us out of the mood
I am out of my saddle
My son passes me
I am the last one through the red light
We all get stopped and laugh
We are all breathing hard and smirking
We couldn't help ourselves

Dave would have liked that