My bike is tuned,
both tires are plump.
I hop aboard,
and shout, “let’s go!”
 
Fresh morning air
moves over me,
promising warmth
as sun ascends.
 
Cold muscles warm
while miles go by.
The cadence stirs
my laggard soul.
 
I own this road.
I conquer miles.
The nodding trees
bow down to me.
 
I reach my stride.
Wheels hum, then sing.
Words can’t describe
a biker’s high.
 
Back home with friends
we share a meal,
talk parts and gears,
and feel pure joy.


© by Mary Buchel.
Used with the author’s permission.