Gloved hands wrap tightly around the bars.

A quick squeeze to pump the brakes.

Legs strong, old wounds turned to scars.

The crisp air quiet like winter lakes.

Ahead the trail moves in curves like gentle waves,

An “S” that has no ending and begins again.

A stone here, bridge there, nothing paved.

Tires tread terrain kicking dirt through bends.

Heart pumping, legs burning, climbing to the top.

The trail gets lost between the trees,

Weaving East, West, over rocks to a sudden drop.

One look back before diving into the downhill seas.