Second Sunday of November Morning brings a cold, steady rain The cycling year is winding down Except for those with different ambitions
Time for a test, riding the wet trail downstream To where the interurban bridge once stood Crumbling wreckage of concrete and rotting steel Victim of the Flood of '37
The new extra-long fender performs as-advertised The frontal spray deflected forward of the bike Tracking left and right, I can aim the stream Like a squirt gun mounted on an amusement park ride
At the other end of the fender the situation is rather bleak My homemade mudflap hangs twisted and limp It's leather attachments seemed a good idea in a warm, dry workroom But soggy leather is not a sturdy structural material
Thunder in the distance, the day changes
>From dove to charcoal
A flash of lightening
(What the Hell am I doing out here?)
I'm riding Same as I've always done In spite of the cold In spite of the rain
Same as I've always done In spite of the disappointments In spite of the loneliness I'm riding
In spite of the loss In spite of the sadness In spite of the silenced voice I'm riding, same as I've always done
Looking out across the river, standing where my father and I once stood On a chill but sunny November day He - staring across the years to his childhood Trying to explain to me what the now-wrecked bridge had meant to him
In spite of the memories, and because of them I'm riding in the cold rain On the Second Sunday of November To where the interurban bridge once stood
Aldo Ross Middletown, Ohio
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