Rider No. 1
Pedaling slow up northbound 69 Highway
Maybe five miles per hour
Dirty old bike with a large seat
Four heavy bags counterweight each wheel
Two in the front, two in the back
With all of the man’s possessions
Dirty, sweaty man riding at nine a.m.
To God knows where
Brown shirt, dirty dungarees, dirty ball cap
Steady pedaling, steady rate of speed
Looking at the concrete shoulder pavement
Directly in front of the front tire.
Rider No. 2
Crosses over Rider No. 1 on the 335th St. Overpass
Brand new, expensive bike
Multi-speed, rat traps, water bottle holder,
Very clean man with windswept helmet
Two hundred dollar riding shoes
Skin tight riding shorts and matching designer shirt
Looks down at Rider No. 1 and shakes his head
As he heads toward Rutlader Outpost
Pedaling erratically, looking behind him several times,
He swigs from his water bottle
Sucking at it high in the air
Rider No. 1
We glance over at northbound 69 and watch him ride out of sight
A ghost of a rider driving from some other dimension
Survivor of the road, the elements, and who knows what else
Could teach Rider No. 2 a thing or two:
Like ethereal pedaling with Hermes’s wings on wheels
Carrying an entire spare tire on the back
Like the Wheel of Life mandala
Prayers radiating out from the spokes
Of wheels that never touch the pavement
Gliding between Heaven and Earth
With no apparent destination or speed
Impervious to dirt and sweat of the Road
Guiding the souls of the road over the next hill.
