Punctured bicycle on a hillside. It will dip near the end. It always does.
Like a boxer, hands dropping, legs gone, in the last round. This is when you know you have it. You've beaten this mountain.
Dip and zig zag.
Like buckled legs, the road dips and you know it's only a matter of metres. Push round the final zig, the final zag, up the last desperate incline and you've done it.
The top.
Catch your breath, lay the bike down and slowly turn around. Behind you, on its back another broken mountain.
From here all the way through the jungle, the tunnels, across those high narrow bridges to the river valley 1000 metres bellow. A waterfall down the side like a trickle of blood from the last uppercut you hit it with.
Hands on hips. Reach for a drink, warm now. Wipe sweat from your forehead, turn and look up...In front, big brother. The trees taller, their greens darker. The road narrower and steeper.
Catch another breath.
Shake the water bottle. Less than half left.
Pick up the bike, wipe the sweat again, the roads are narrower, longer and it is steeper but, you can see a dip, just before the top and that's when you know you will have it beaten.
-- Jimmy McGee, Ukulele Poet Magician
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