Pedals churn as spoked wheels turn
And miles go passing quickly by.
Aching, straining muscles needing
rest
Search for an alibi.
Downhill's easy, coast and rest,
But uphill is a royal bitch.
Watch out for oncoming traffic
Lest they run you in a ditch.
Striking out on bold adventures,
Don Quixote on a quest,
Racing on occasion just to see
Whose bike could run the best.
We were young and oh, so foolish,
Never caring where we'd roam,
Knowing when we got to Buford,
We'd turn around and pedal home.
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