Hey bicycle man,

I came to ride with you today.

We had a date,

you may not remember.

I know you’ve been busy.

We set this date back a year ago.

You were already dying of cancer.

We both knew it,

but we didn’t talk about it,

at least not directly.

It was a beautiful ride along the shore in Vermont

Vermont, your adopted State.

You love it there.

Funny after all those miles you rode over more than one continent

You ended up riding in the mountains in Vermont.

Of course, you also skied,

Lots and lots of skiing,

but hey this is my story so keep your skiing out of it.

So we had this date,

I clearly said,

I was looking forward to doing this ride in two years with you,

when we both knew the grains in your hourglass did not have that much sand left.

Remember, we stopped at the store run by that very old brother and sister.

My wife, oh yes, she was on the ride as well,

smiled because she was always amazed,

how easily you could just get people to start talking.

You played their very out of tune piano.

It seems I was always getting you to play very out of tune pianos.

The reason was,

you could.

You could pick up your life and reinvent it,

just like you could always find a tune on a busted down keyboard.

Your fingers would find a way around the stuck or sticky keys.

You were always somewhat elfish, or dwarvish that way.

Maybe that was part of your magic,

and you have some magic in you, we could all see it in your eyes.

Regardless, you always had a way,

a way to make beautiful music, ok, at least passable music,

out of a piano or out of the life you were given,

and the life you made it into.

Like you did in Vermont.

It was clear, because even despite the dogs,

Your house was filled with love,

Ok, I give you the dogs, they clearly loved you,

and you them.

So now, I’m here.

It is the appointed time.

The sun is just setting,

the first stars are coming out,

a premature early fall chill is in the air.

I place my feet on my peddles,

and out of the corner of my eye,

I see you briefly.

Your head is turned and you are throwing back a kiss,

to the woman and the daughter you loved.

From even here,

I can hear their hearts cry out,

ride safe.

Yes, my friend,

ride safe.

Ride safe, on all those glorious hills and valleys you now get to ride.

Ride safe.

 

© words by Daniel DeMarle 7/13/2020 – In memory of James Reda