Viewing 21 posts - 1 through 21 (of 21 total)
  • The Poetry of Mountain Biking
  • amodicumofgnar
    Full Member

    Time for some Friday culture, bought A Poet’s Guide to Britain the other day. From it, The Way through the Woods by Rudyard Kipling:

    They shut the road through the woods
    Seventy years ago.
    Weather and rain have undone it again,
    And now you would never know
    There was once a road through the woods
    Before they planted the trees.
    It is underneath the coppice and heath
    And the thin anemones.
    Only the keeper sees
    That, where the ring-dove broods,
    And the badgers roll at ease,
    There was once a road through the woods.

    Yet, if you enter the woods
    Of a summer evening late,
    When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
    Where the otter whistles his mate,
    (They fear not men in the woods,
    Because they see so few.)
    You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet,
    And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
    Steadily cantering through
    The misty solitudes,
    As though they perfectly knew
    The old lost road through the woods …
    But there is no road through the woods.

    So, any other offers for the poetry of riding? Try and keep it clean, more real hill less Benny Hill.

    Free Member

    The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost

    Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
    And sorry I could not travel both
    And be one traveler, long I stood
    And looked down one as far as I could
    To where it bent in the undergrowth;

    Then took the other, as just as fair,
    And having perhaps the better claim
    Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
    Though as for that the passing there
    Had worn them really about the same,

    And both that morning equally lay
    In leaves no step had trodden black.
    Oh, I marked the first for another day!
    Yet knowing how way leads on to way
    I doubted if I should ever come back.

    I shall be telling this with a sigh
    Somewhere ages and ages hence:
    Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
    I took the one less traveled by,
    And that has made all the difference.

    Free Member

    I’ve got a bike
    You can ride it if you like
    It’s got a basket
    A bell that rings
    And things to make it look good.

    Bike, Syd Barrett

    Free Member

    Also Kipling, looking at history while riding…

    SEE you the ferny ride that steals
    Into the oak-woods far?
    0 that was whence they hewed the keels
    That rolled to Trafalgar.
    And mark you where the ivy clings
    To Bayharn’s mouldering walls?
    0 there we cast the stout railings
    That stand around St. Paul’s.

    See you the dimpled track that runs
    All hollow through the wheat?
    0 that was where they hauled the guns
    That smote King Philip’s fleet.

    (Out of the Weald, the secret Weald,
    Men sent in ancient years,
    The horse-shoes red at Flodden Field,
    The arrows at Poitiers!)

    See you our little mill that clacks,
    So busy by the brook?
    She has ground her corn and paid her tax
    Ever since Domesday Book.

    See you our stilly woods of oak,
    And the dread ditch beside?
    0 that was where the Saxons broke
    On the day that Harold died.

    See you the windy levels spread
    About the gates of Rye?
    0 that was where the Northmen fled,
    When Alfred’s ships came by.

    See you our pastures wide and lone,
    Where the red oxen browse?
    0 there was a City thronged and known,
    Ere London boasted a house.

    And see you, after rain, the trace
    Of mound and ditch and wall?
    0 that was a Legion’s camping-place,
    When Caesar sailed from Gaul.

    And see you marks that show and fade,
    Like shadows on the Downs?
    0 they are the lines the Flint Men made,
    To guard their wondrous towns.

    Trackway and Camp and City lost,
    Salt Marsh where now is corn-
    Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease,
    And so was England born.

    She is not any common Earth,
    Water or wood or air,
    But Merlin’s Isle of Gramarye,
    Where you and I will fare.

    Free Member

    Syd Barrett, a crazy diamond indeed 8)

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    not poetry, song lyrics, but the ‘Whispers of Summer all in my mind” line always comes back to me in the middle of bleak mid-winter rides like a vision of sun breaking through the clouds.

    The winter streets are swimming before me
    My winter feet are lagging behind
    All I can see is the frost on my window
    All I can hear is my mind

    Don’t go away
    Please don’t make me stay
    This warm breeze is clogging my eyes
    Don’t go away
    Please don’t make me stay
    Whispers of Summer all in my mind

    There you go in your slumber
    The waves of the world fly under your feet
    (You are) side by side with the sun and the stars
    I wonder if again we might meet


    I want to go home though the party’s not over
    Don’t want to go back to no ignorant lies
    For when I go I intend to believe
    That the sun rises and sets in your eyes

    Full Member

    Songs as well then…

    Full Member


    Free Member


    Full Member

    The Song Of Wandering Aonghus

    W.B. Yeats

    I went down to the Hazelwood
    Because a fire was in my head
    I cut and peeled a hazel wand
    And hooked a berry to a thread
    And when white moths were on the wing
    And moth like stars were flickering out
    I put the berry in a stream
    And hooked a little silver trout

    When I had laid it on the floor
    I went to blow the fire aflame
    But something rustled on the floor
    And someone called me by my name
    It had become a glimmering girl
    With apple blossom in her hair
    Who called me by my name and ran
    And faded in the brightening air

    Though I am old with wandering
    Through hollow lands and hilly lands
    I will find out where she has gone
    And kiss her lips and hold her hands
    And walk among long dappled grass
    And pluck till time and times are done
    The silver apples of the moon
    The golden apples of the sun.


    Free Member

    You dream of distant places,
    Worlds you’ve never seen,
    And paint a perfect postcard,
    Of grass a finer green.

    And you want to try out
    Just to see what you’ve been told,
    Isn’t words in books and smiling
    And hills veined with fools

    You don’t know where your
    And you won’t know where you’ve
    Been, when you’ve taken lots of photos,
    And missed what you should have

    Still you hold onto fancy and
    Sunshine medicine,
    Cradling pieces of some sky,
    While all this useless wasted
    Strikes me till I cry.

    You’re so adrift in distant
    And hilly strangers your adore,
    That you’re riding blind through
    Lying right outside you’re door.

    Full Member

    My soul is in the mountains
    My heart is in the land
    I’m lost here in the city
    There’s so much I don’t understand

    There’s quiet desperation comin’ over me
    Comin’ over me

    I’ve got to leave I can’t stay another day
    There’s an emptiness inside of me
    I can’t bear the loneliness out here
    There’s another place I’ve got to be

    I long for you Dakota
    Smell of sweet grass on the plain
    I see too much meanness
    And I feel too much pain

    There’s quiet desperation comin’ over me
    Comin’ over me

    I’ve got to leave I can’t stay another day
    There’s an emptiness inside of me
    I can’t bear the loneliness out here
    There’s another place I’ve got to be

    Full Member

    Great thread!

    Emily Jane Brontë
    The Night is Darkening round Me

    The night is darkening round me,
    The wild winds coldly blow ; But a tyrant spell has bound me,
    And I cannot, cannot go.

    The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow ;
    The storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go.

    Clouds beyond clouds above me,
    Wastes beyond wastes below But nothing drear can move me :
    I will not, cannot go.

    Free Member

    Going down Hill on a Bicycle, A Boy’s Song

    WITH lifted feet, hands still,
    I am poised, and down the hill
    Dart, with heedful mind;
    The air goes by in a wind.

    Swifter and yet more swift,
    Till the heart with a mighty lift
    Makes the lungs laugh, the throat cry:–
    ‘O bird, see; see, bird, I fly.

    ‘Is this, is this your joy?
    O bird, then I, though a boy
    For a golden moment share
    Your feathery life in air!’

    Say, heart, is there aught like this
    In a world that is full of bliss?
    ‘Tis more than skating, bound
    Steel-shod to the level ground.

    Speed slackens now, I float
    Awhile in my airy boat;
    Till, when the wheels scarce crawl,
    My feet to the treadles fall.

    Alas, that the longest hill
    Must end in a vale; but still,
    Who climbs with toil, wheresoe’er,
    Shall find wings waiting there.
    Henry Charles Beeching

    Free Member

    nice 😀

    Free Member

    For when you’ve climbed to the top:

    Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout – Gary Snyder

    Down valley a smoke haze
    Three days heat, after five days rain
    Pitch glows on the fir-cones
    Across rocks and meadows
    Swarms of new flies.

    I cannot remember things I once read
    A few friends, but they are in cities.
    Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
    Looking down for miles
    Through high still air.

    Free Member

    There was an old man called Glen
    Who rode up and down the Ben
    His knees were complaining
    And his shoulders were aching
    So he shaped up and did it again

    Full Member

    hmmm 🙂

    Free Member

    I’ve never let lack of talent stop me 🙂

    Free Member

    Stevie matey what a boy.
    His flashy bike is just a toy,
    In a cupboard it sits all week
    till Saturday morn, Steve takes a peek
    through frosted windows he sticks his nose,
    ‘bugger me, the grounds all froze’!

    Can’t remember the rest but I wrote it for my mates birthday yonks ago (his bike was a Kona Sex 2) & he can’t find the original copy either!

    Free Member

    Down the track and over the bar
    Who on earth knew he would fly quite so far?
    Into a puddle
    And all of a muddle
    Oh how he wished he’d taken the car

Viewing 21 posts - 1 through 21 (of 21 total)

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