I’ve been thinking more lately about cycling. About bicycles. About me. Actually riding bikes. I used to, you know. Once. Upon a time.
I rode them here, I rode them there. I rode them everywhere.
Now I sit and read law books, case briefs, learned treatises, horn books, commercial outlines, released bar questions, lecture notes. It is a path paved with the shattered hearts of fools.
What to do at this late hour, where, once again, the entire family has turned in save me wading through my readings? I need a break. A rest. Ah, a beer, perhaps? And a quick visit with the bikes in the garage? They sit, lean, hang, rest, and wait. For me. Always.
Hello girls. Hello jonny. Come in. How have you been? (So forgiving, never asking where I’ve been. Those accusations come on the first hill. But not tonight.) Run your fingers over me. Go ahead, it is all for you. The seat. The bars. The levers. The leather. The cork. The chromed steel. Oh, just a fleeting moment. A short respite before a return to the books. My heart sings! We have a history, you and I, do we not? We’ve been places. We’ve been through a lot. Yes, so much, so much.
The stories you could tell, you cunning little minx. But, those stories are ours. I won’t tell if you won’t.
I gave you years of my life. And I was glad to do it. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Good night, my sweet, good night.by