Bikes are charged and waiting on the drive
I’m applying my new Korean sunscreen
Soon I’ll don my under groin padded shorts
slip on fingerless gloves with pinhole patterns
that I’ll secure with two neat Velcro straps

It’s a long cry from leaping onto my second-
hand Raleigh (a gift from my maiden aunt)
to cycle to the Appleby River and back or
Rocks Road to fish off the working wharf
or Edens Hole for a swim and sunbathe

Like my mother in her ballgown back in
the day, cycling from Richmond to Stoke
or further, ciggie in hand, anything for
a whirl around the ballroom – and who
knows what shoes she used to cycle

But it’s 2025, and I’m 75 and I have
a battery on my bike and certain
preparations required include a Hi-Viz 
vest, bright blue crash proof helmet
my iPhone charged zipped in my pocket

Past the purple ragworth, the fisherman
divers, families with chilli bins, walkers,
smiling at other cyclists, some unpowered
moving faster than me, and scowling at
a family on the beach who’ve lit a fire

On the roadside is a sign that says
Light No Fires and the ashy smell
catches in my nostrils along with
indignation as I imagine sparks
flying from the beach to the bush

I cycle over newly laid aggregate
which covers the injuries made
by Cruise Ship buses as they
hurtle along the Coast sending
up clouds of dust and diesel

Each year a fresh crop of potholes
uneven surfaces, and skid patches
for wary cyclists … the trick is to
pedal fast and sure seated like
you did back in the day, unafraid

Stand on the pedals bum airborne
as you cycle over the cattle stop
arms rigid, controlling the battle
over the bumps and down again
flying briefly, well, almost it seems

Channelling that girl on her Raleigh
no gears and back pedal brakes
riding two abreast up Oxford Street
arms folded, careless, carefree
sans sunscreen or Hi Viz, and
just a white Panama hat thank you