I have searched
and I have known.
I know when to coast
and I know when to get up in the saddle.
I discern when it’s safe to turn.
I think about my going out when I’m lying down.
I am familiar with all my routes.
Before my wheel makes a complete circle
my ride is known.
The path before and behind is laid out.
Such views are too wonderful for me.
too spectacular from the hilltops.
Where shall I go today?
If I go north, Cherry Mountain is there.
If I head south, Luckenbach greets me.
If I ride east, I find the oldest church in the county.
If I pedal west—well, I haven’t figured out west yet.
Yet even there, my hands grip the bar and climb.
If I ride in the morning, as the night becomes light,
the moon still watches over me.
Even if the sun blinds me
I turn into the shade around the next bend.
I don’t know who formed this machine’s inward parts,
who ratcheted it together.
I give thanks that it is fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are Trek’s works,
that I know very well.
No road is hidden secret. Not one street is secret.
My speedometer keeps track of every mile and minute.
How vast the paths yet unridden!
If I were to replay every one on my bed,
I’d never sleep.
Begone, dogs!
Shoo, sheep!
Go, goats!
Mooove, cows!
Die, deer! (if you lived here, you’d understand)
I hate harsh winds.
I despise dirt piles that hide glass and nails
and 4x4s that honk unnecessarily.
Oh God, search my paths. Test my routes.
Know my leavings and returnings
and the miles yet to be.
