Inscription
Written in Bryant-esque style for English

When the daily swill of life
becomes an unbearable burden,
and the mind is crazed and busy,
I have only one thing to do.

Or, in times when the heart's burden
seems too great to bear,
and the houses close in
and the foolish masses oppress.

I cannot simply sit
And sink meekly into despair
Or allow the dark, screaming sorrows
to sink in their claws.

I turn to that which eases
the stress and sadness,
a metal frame, rubber wheels.
A flying machine.

A bike - unlikely hero maybe.
But an escape aid second to none
on the square city blocks
or stretching country highways.

A place for the mind to focus.
Drawn in by the rhythmic wheel-turns,
the mind turns in on itself,
for understanding and introspection on life's little crises.

Or to completely clear out -
on the wide open spaces,
arms lifted to the sky, thoughts free.
Cares, worries, hurtle away across the grass.

It moves through the small, humble glow of dawn,
the piercing bright of noon,
the long shadows of late-day
and the soaring melancholy of dusk's great ceremony.

The bike is for the free spirit, the adventurer
those who escape the chains
of flat-footed existence
and seek out the bike's sleek motion.

With legs pumping, arms bracing -
thoughtlessly, without consciousness
with the body no object,
the mind is free.

Like the winds roll the billowing clouds away,
so does the bike cleanse the mind,
so do I seek the wind,
to purge, to focus, to escape.