the momentum will carry me (celebrating/serenading)

hills mica says jacob says
about the 71 mile  journey before us as we pedal west on M
and i try to suggest something like
maybe by hills he just means
little dips in the road
not to untell a truth but to

undo the sense of being daunted
and although mica insists there are hills
i go with the little dips in the road theory
in order to feel powerful/empowered
instead of defeated
as we shove off
the four raccoons
(1 adult, three babies)
parading off the shoulder of the
county highway
creeping into the cornfield and
climbing the electric pole to hide

trumpet vine in bloom
taking over a skeletal barn whose wood siding
has turned almost silver
with time and sun
the red-tailed hawk and its scream
as it flies above/alongside as i pedal
and how it brings me, about 20 miles into our journey
to a few tears
and how this depth/connection
is a thing i’m always seeking

entering schulyer county
i pronounce/read outloud: shoolyear
which mica pronounces skyler
(which is how the locals say it)
which is exactly how it goes around here
something about learning the finesse of
picking up speed as much as i can on the down hill
so that when it turns into an uphill
the momentum will carry me

the bag of cheezits mica holds open
and the junction of highway d and t
as the three of us pause
for water and saltifying
the unnamed phenomenon of how
on a long hike or ride
the simplest non-extraordinary food
becomes a thing you didn’t even know you were craving
until you put it in your mouth
and it explodes with deliciousness
mica and rachel in the heat
of the mid/late day pedaling and singing behind me
push it
as we round one of the final bends
on d
the turkey vulture that doesn’t
want to leave its roadkill racoon
holding its stubborn stance on the blacktop
as rachel swiftly approaches and how it
lifts into flight at the very
last minute
how i laugh about posting the detail of
a fellow biker who shall remain anonymous
saying her crotch/bike shorts
smell like a dead animal

the thin thread of light
at the time of day when the glow
begins to get softer, becomes more gold
falling through the slats of the cow-barn siding
where rachel and i detour for some stillness
the marching band jam of
horns! and drums! and maracas!
celebrating/serenading us
upon our arrival
is one of the things i love
about this place
new soundscape on the farm:
bleat of goats in the distance
rising from the chicken yard


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