Spring's first ride

April 4, 2010—St Paul: Minneapolis.  28 miles

I forgot all the time to get ready to ride.

I forgot the best place to stash my wallet.   

I forgot where I left my goggles last winter.

I forgot my shoes, an extra layer, raingear before buckling up saddlebags.

I forgot the precise pattern that holds it all in place.

I forgot the size of Minnesota potholes.

I forgot how sand will slide your boot away.

I forgot merging trucks and texting teens.

I forgot to cancel my signal.

I just forgot… everything familiar. 

I forgot that you stand out walking down the street in full leathers and fringe.

I forgot how little girls and older women, too, often catch and hold my eye;

I forgot the shudder-shock of recognition. 

I forgot to look at the speedometer as much as I should.

And, I also forgot that fast feels good.

I forgot thought moves in altered rhythm.

I forgot the grit, the wind, the glare.

I forgot time and limits and a few assumptions too.

I forgot she’s far, far bigger than me.

I forgot, all along, being just a little afraid and a sliver outside.