Whyte's Level - A Poem

With the sense of excitement
And a slight hint of fear
Many hours on the road
The mountains draw near

A carpark full of friendly chatter
Many a new friend, all having a natter
Roof racks now, all minus the bikes
Checking their kit and correct saddle heights

Then onto the trail and on up the climb
Thru rocks and roots with patches of slime
Get into a rhythm, spinning just right
With lungs on fire and muscles all tight

Out onto the summit and a sweet smell of pine
Discussions of slipping and where was the line
Time for, banana’s, energy bars and a drink
That was so much faster than last time, I think.

Twist and wiggle thru the mx free gate
Over the back wheel goes most of your weight
The start of, a hard fought , descent
It really was, 25 minutes well spent.

All of your world, just four feet in front
High on the berms and over the jumps
So let fly with the gears and pedal like mad
The sense of flying, just has to be had.

The rush and the clatter of small little bumps
Swooping the bends and missing the stumps
Getting big air off perfectly placed rocks
Woh too close to the tree’s, a small glancing knock.

Who was it said, “this is no way, a race”
Huge grin appearing across your muddy face
Arms, hands and shoulders aching like mad
The sense of flying just has to be had.

A slight little climb, tyres, trying to bite
A 500 foot drop, too near on your right
Then swing up round the curve of the bend
A gnarly rock garden, so near to the end.

Onto the tarmac, the trail spits you out
To relive the ride, of which there’s no doubt
So sit on the rock and chill for a tad
The sense of flying , just has to be had.

Penfold - April 2004