The Red Rocket sits idle.

It sits there in the garage, front wheel off.

It wonders why I let it lean there like that.

My bike has to wait. And wait some more.

Don’t worry, friend. I will put you back together again.

Sooner than later.

There will be salvation.

We must regain trust in one another.

There is love. All those miles together guarantee that.

Yes, I’ve learned much about you over the last four weeks. 

What you need, at high speed, to be both safe and stable.

A couple knees pinched on the top bar. That’s all it takes. And a loose grip.

At least you weren’t broken in the fall. Your frame and components are all intact.

I can mostly say the same thing about myself. Just one broken collarbone. 

It’s funny how the accidents in life seem to teach us the most.

Sometimes, you must be almost broken to be saved, for the long term.

But in a way, that happened all at once, on that downhill.

The forcible choice between hitting the deck on road or grass.

As you wobbled out of control I hauled you over. There.

We slid into a ditch, grassy and deep.

We missed the cable and a post. Like it was supposed to be. 

Didn’t see those going down. Just learned it later. Flat on the back.

Staring at the sky.

Lived to see another day.

For that we can be thankful.

And though you be lonely in our dark garage, the vow is there.

To ride. And ride again.

Amen.