Hey all! I decided to wait for a while to post this, but with Russ's permission secured, here it is...
And in verse, no less! For your listening pleasure...
Russ and I went out one morn
To ride in Demo Forest.
We met upon the crack of dawn
And left at six-thirty-ish.
I drove us out, for last time Russ
Had done the driving for us
When we went out to Stevens Creek,
So I got us to the forest.
We met some riders in the lot
And they were cool and friendly.
So we were off and they behind
And we started uphill quickly.
We headed down the fine Ridge Trail.
We stuck real close together.
The trail conditions were pristine,
Not to mention the weather.
The junction finally arrived
Where Braille cuts to the right.
But we cut left down Sawpit Trail
Like we’d planned yester night.
We hit them all, we hit them fast,
Rocks and logs and corners;
We came upon a trio of drops,
One right after the other.
I hit them, dropped them, onetwothree!
In smooth and quick succession.
Then turned about after the third
To see my friend attempt them.
He hit the first and off he flew
Slightly askew, I thought;
And he carried on to number two,
But pedal he did not.
The speed he needed did not come
From the slight slope of the hill.
And time slowed down, my brain’s alarm
Was sounding very shrill.
This second drop, this demon drop
The largest of the three,
This demoniacal dead tree drop
Was more than Russ could see.
The front wheel dropped, the rear did not
And man and bike did topple.
I’m sure that in his mind it seemed
The world itself did wobble.
In micro-milliseconds flat
He rolled there in the dust
And bike and man laid on the ground
Though bike better-off than Russ.
I quickly checked just to make sure
That nothing had broken too badly,
Since the bike was ‘okay’ I moved right away
To check on my friend moaning softly.
I could not tell right away what was hurt
As he curled in the fetal position
And gritty “fucks” and “shits” expelled
With interjectory precision.
It took little time for us to find
That there’d be no more riding for Russ.
He could not hold the bar, could not squeeze the brake
So now it was walking for us.
I thought we’d be walking quite a ways out
Since we still had a four-mile hill,
But with teeth biting hard and his hand in his lap
Russ RODE up the god-damn hill!
From the lot we drove home and later that day
He went to the emergency room.
The X-ray showed that the ulna was broke
At the wrist…a rider’s doom!
Six weeks on the trail without Russ is our fate
And perhaps we’ll get along alright.
I will ride with a smile on the verge of a frown,
That orange streak far out of sight.
So three cheers for Russ who’s shown us again
The lesson that all riders need:
That the worst of crashes all seem to take place
At the slowest of possible speeds.
Although I do not claim that the poem itself is great, I will say that it is all true. Hang in there, Russ. You'll be back in the saddle in no time. And don't they say that when you break a bone that it heals stronger than it was before? Next thing you know everyone will be breaking bones too, on purpose no less, to make themselves tougher and more resilient! And so I will write great poems about their exploits! I'll never forget how you climbed that hill!
