Headwind Bill

Always pedalling
up up up a hill
or into an invisible wind

Even though the road be flat
or the air so very still

Even though the wind
be at his back

Maybe it’s the years
about 75 or so
Or a heavy heart
cholesterol
Maybe it’s the laden lungs
the smokes
Or just old muscles and joints
Maybe the burden of the back-pack

Or perhaps he knows
steady pedalling
and a gear neither
too high nor too low
will always get him there

He keeps his bikes
better than he keeps himself
The right amount of air, of oil
the precise tension
within the moving parts

There must be times –
eyes closing
falling
into a deep sleep –
when he remembers
better days
better seasons
the weather kinder

That afternoon ten years ago
the magnificent westerly
About 20 kays on the bike path
No-one else mad enough
to be out there
Just the bike
and the coming storm
taking him home
Sitting up
Fingers barely touching the bars
Toes hardly moving the pedals
Enjoying the view
the river
the wetlands
the fruit bats
the ibises

Head bowed now
Shoulders hunched
that mighty westerly
a distant memory
Back bent
Knees cracking
pushing pushing pushing
into the wind.