People in their cars do not think this way, <br />But when the wheels of a motorcycle roll <br />Onto a road freshly milled, stripped, and grooved, <br />Handlebars become animated and rebellious, <br />Jerking in spasms of madness and fear. <br /> <br />Small sharp stones will fly, <br />Flipped up by the truck ahead <br />To rattle through fenders, <br />And bounce off a helmet or a face. <br /> <br />A heart will rise, struggling to escape its cavity. <br />A mind will think, “I’m going to fall.” <br /> <br />The only asset left to one is a vertical posture, <br />Maintained by the eerie, tenuous momentum <br />Of wheels trapped in scars that stretch for <br />Untold miles between flagmen and orange cones. <br /> <br />Soon, though, soon <br />The fresh new pavement, <br />Black and beckoning, <br />Appears on the right, <br />A huge step up, separating <br />The rough from the smooth. <br /> <br />I know you are worried, <br />But you will do fine. <br />Don’t grip the bars too tightly; <br />Let them play, let your control <br />Become more subtle; <br />Give yourself room <br />To take the lip at a wider angle <br />And at the right moment, <br />The one you decide, <br />Push firmly to the right, <br />Stand on the pegs, <br />Knees bent, head up— <br />Always keep your head up. <br />You will go where you look <br />So look to where you want to be; <br />And let the bike follow your brain. <br /> <br />This is a skill to be learned <br />Gently, gently, gently.<br /><br />Gary Witt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-friend-travelling-a-rough-road/
