Yes, I see you,
Riding your softtail
On a glorious sunny Sunday afternoon.
Your bike looking brand new,
Blemish free,
Chrome gleaming like polished glass,
No paint scratches
Or green bug splats.
Yes, I see you,
Riding with your shirtsleeves up,
Your collar opened wide,
Your hair swimming in the air,
Shades hanging low,
Baseball hat turned backwards,
Smiling in the wind,
Smoking a Swisher.
Yes, I see you -- now.
But where were you yesterday
When the rain turned the streets into a boiling potato soup?
Or the week before when it was 103
And you could smell the tar melting under your tires?
Or the month before when Spring was new
And you slammed into a thousand June Bugs?
Or the season before when the chill factor was -15
And your breath froze inside your helmet
And you couldn't move your hands to brake or change gears?
Were you comfy inside your SUV
Listening to PBS
Sipping dregs from your first cup of Starbucks?
Were you making last-minute transactions
On your cell
While your Lexus was on cruise?
Was your ride safe and covered
In your two-car garage
After having its weekend manicure?
Yes, I see you,
But you were nowhere to be seen
As I slugged through the rain
And heat and sleet and cold
On two wheels,
Every day,
To make it on time to my 9 to 5.
You say those days weren't good
riding days.
I say every day is a good riding day.
Don't leave the hog in the garage.
It needs to be walked.
