Gravel

Some visions are not meant to end in poetic slants of reality, but then other glimpses cannot be washed away from the significance and thus blossom into memories of subtle complexity.

In the same languid motion with which the purpling sky conquered the sun now hovering in stasis beneath the suburban horizon, the last few meters of our adventure unfolded. Thrilled with the exertion, our bodies pushed forward, pedal by pedal, cog by cog, toward a homeward destination already filled with memories of other jaunts.

With any rise and fall, whether through the sweat on the furrow of the back or by the whistle of foreign air about our ears, we are reminded of the massive earth and its desire to keep us close to her breast. This hill was no variation to the theme; gravity brought us swiftly to its belly. The imperfections of the trail were dimmed by a massive wall carefully built to separate sleeping men from the drone of commuted sentences to idle work. Shadows often hide imperfection and indeed detritus left by the sweeping winds and the eroding waters.

My eyes were tired. Certainly. But as the friction moved from tire to pavement to gravel, my focus honed and I knew what was to be witnessed.

When I think of abrasions, I can never help but remember the protective gear of our motorcycle heroes. The scrapes on the racing helmets challenging the quips of their sponsors and the steel pads exposed by deep gouges in the expensive leather near the knees or the dark lines of heat indelibly fixed upon the racers' backs like the well earned stripes of a tiger. These imperfections, if you should dub them as such, are in no way marks of failure. The marks celebrate our human effort to find the delicate edge of our limits. In this world of consequences, skillful excess and its subsequent effects are the only way to explore our mastery of limitations.

Snapped into focus, I watched as the rear tire slid and gravity took not only the rider and steed to the bottom of the hill, but also the body of the rider to the gravelly ground. Sprung forth from the wild eyes that searched for meaning, hands reached beyond the grips in an effort to claw structure from the open air. Helmet first down with a dull drum beat, then softer body parts, and then ungracefully the motion ceased, but for a moment.

I could see the fervent desire to jump - jump up - jump quickly to set things right - flee the danger. His body had been trained from its conception to know and respond to danger; I would need to step in to prevent nature from taken further effect. With a quick word, directly and calmly, I goaded gravity's victim to lay back and wait for a careful inspection of a racer's first stripes.