I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
--John Masefield, "Sea Fever"
I must down to the road again, to the lonely trail and the sky
And all I ask is a ten-speed and a chain to pedal by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and handlebar's shaking,
A grey cloud on my grimy face, and no hint of braking.
--Dominique Cimafranca, "Trail Fever"
Yes, I've just bastardized a classic poem, but I hope I haven't done too bad a job of it. I've retained the rhyme and the meter. At the very least, I hope I demonstrate kinship with the spirit of Mr. Masefield.
And I needed to write that. In retrospect, this May has been one of the cruellest summers in recent memory. Sadly, some things break along the way. Better now than later, I suppose. Nothing to do but move on.
I survive. I thrive. I ride.
Always, the freedom of the open road beckons.
Oh, yeah, baby.