Sun rises out there
Past the windshield
Coffee in hand, swig
Turn up the radio
Something about not
Riding for free, no
We go anyway, yes
Pulled by the promise
That it is still there
The trail, beckoning
Calling, like coyotes
In the night, crazed
A little, it seems,
Though for the canyon
Dwellers it is simply
Life, like packing up
A vehicle with stuff
And going, driving
To the higher elevations
Escaping summer’s heat
At least for a little
While, longer the day’s
Sunlight, dusk arriving
To paint ridgelines as
Silhouettes against pale
Out come the ales
Tongues dance around
A pile of wood, fire
Friends, chatter, always
Laughter and tired eyes
Tomorrow waking
And riding again, the
Cares moving further
Away from where
They were yesterday
No Dabs is a monthly column by James Murren that celebrates the mountain biking community and lifestyle.
Indeed!