Things just hit you without warning sometimes.

Riders Three


On a beautiful day
All clear and warm,
We fuelled up the bikes
And took off in good form.

Through Kirby we rolled
In tiny Daisy we ate,
Near the steep-sided banks
Of quiet Greeson Lake.

Then west on to Euclid,
Through Burg and Umpire,
Serenaded by engines
And the whir of the tires.

Through valleys and mountains
Rode the riders three—
My father, my brother,
And the third one was me.

We crossed the rugged Cossatot,
Looked at pelts and stuffed beasts
At the Visitors’ Center,
Then turned to the east.

Past Porter Mountain and Tall Peak,
With their green-clad sides,
Leaning and swooping,
Feeling joy in our ride.

Across the upper Little Miss,
Through Athens and Langley,
By tall Redland Mountain,
And little, lovely Lodi;

Through mountains and valleys
Rode the riders three—
My father, my brother,
And the third one was me.

On some miles we passed
A school let out for the day;
Then ran through a town,
And there by the way

On a porch looming over the street
Stood two little boys.
They looked down at us
With wide grins of joy.

They waved and smiled
As we rode through,
Because boys love bikes
And wish they could ride too.

They watched as we rode,
The riders three—
My father, my brother,
And the third one was me.

I waved back, of course,
And took in the grin
Those little boys gave me,
And felt something within;

A hollow inside my heart
As she recalled how she
Lived with empty arms
And no child to sit on the knee.

I rode on thinking
Of what I had lost;
Of failure in love,
And what that had cost.

Through valleys and mountains
Rode the riders three—
My father, my brother,
And me, the dry tree.

: )