Tour de Friends

The Cyclist
by N. Cognito

Once upon a Sunday daybreak, while I ponder caffeine intake
Over by a quaint and curious counter in a northside Starbucks store
As I'm nodding, nearly napping, someone else is neatly mapping
And now we all are vaguely grasping, grasping at the route we came here for
"'Tis a nice route," I mutter, strapping on my helmet's core
"This is what I came here for."

Ah, distinctly I remember, we rode this route just last September
And each separate trail leg is one I surely do adore
Eagerly I wish for starting; I am ready to be departing
From the bike rack perched just outside this local Starbucks store
We often park our bikes outside the Starbucks door
That is what the rack's there for.

To the chagrin of our party, one last cyclist is still tardy
Apparently, he knows not what an alarm clock ' s for
While we stand 'round, patiently waiting, he shows up; he is so grating
And now we are all berating , stating we won't tolerate t his lack of esprit de corps
"He's a bastard", I yammer, in a not so subtle roar
"That bastard's made us late once more."

But finally we set out cycling, we set a pace that's to our liking
Feeling breeze against our wicking cotton bike armor
We turn from road on to a trail, with wind astern we really sail
Until we come across a spur, a windy tree-lined spur we've never seen before
It is just such adventure that we weekly come here for
Quoth the cyclists: "let's explore!"