The Cyclist’s Creed

 

I love the bike for what it lets me do.
Its parts are plain, yet strong, and ever true.
No needless tricks, no flashing lights that fail,
Just honest wheels that hum along the trail.

The bolts I turn with confidence and care;
Each thread and spoke is known, familiar, fair.
Though new devices crowd the modern trade,
I ride content with standards firmly made.

Yet gears that click in place I will commend—
A simple gift that makes the climb my friend.
Through fields and towns I roam with tent or bed,
And meet strange folk by whom my path is led.

The road brings highs, then lows, as journeys must,
And chains will break, and spokes may turn to rust.
But still I mend, for joy is in the task,
And in the ride, no greater gift I ask.