CYCLING SYDNEY’S WILD WEST – poetry in stop-start motion

Steven the poet and I discovered a common interest in cycling. He lives in the Blue Mountains, I’m in Sydney’s Inner West. So we decided to meet in the middle. I thought if I couldn’t quite match Steven on the wheels (and I can’t), I’d try to emulate his achievements in blank verse. Here goes…

Go west, old man, said Steve, so west I went.
Toting bike by train
Dressed in lycra, unflattering,
Though my stomach in
I sucked.
Then disembarked at the station known
with a smirk
as ‘Rooty Hill’.

A cycleway there lies, wide and newish
stretching down beside Westlink M7,
40 kilometres, gleaming smugly.
I cost 30 million dollars, it boasts, so share me
with tax-paying pedestrians.

It all looked so easy...but...

Yet, just as two kilometres southwards we did ride,
Nay, maybe not so far, we found
The gates against us closed.

...but not locked...

We are writers.
Free spirits are we, not bound by
Rules that may apply
To other folk.
So…

Through the gates we slipped
Sprang to the saddle,
And braved the mighty Westlink.

Semis to right of us,
Semis to right of us,
Semis behind us,
Lorried and thundered.
Ours not to reason why
Someone had blundered.

Throbbing motors,
Cars, black and chrome,
Low-slung suspension,
Tattooed elbows
Protruding from the windows
Klaxon horns play Colonel Bogan
As they whip between us to the M4 exit ramp.
Max speed 100,
And we but pushing 30.

Let’s get the hell out of here, cries Steven, lest we die.
So we pull over
In the broken glass
of the Emergency Stopping Lane.
Climb concrete barrier
And resume a gentle ride along the cycleway,
Into the park, until we find…
The gates once more are locked against our pleasure.

"Gates Open - 8am" says the sign, at 11am.

As rain sets in we ride
Suburban streets with unfamiliar names
Though some are known to us;
Steve tells his poetry from time to time
In schools, and I my stories.

We may have travelled down this road before
In nineteen ninety-three or ninety-four.

Prairiewood, Edensor Park and Wakely
Slip beneath our wheels.
Till we reach Canley Vale,
Vietnamese in nature and in food.
So stop for pho.

The rain stops too and there’s
The pleasing prospect of a pedal,
Round the Prospect Reservoir
But
Alas
The gates once more…you guessed it…
Shut.

Don't ask us, mate, we only work here.

Yet one there is, a gentleman
Who carries with him keys,
And lets us through.

Yes, I can unlock the gate for you, Sir, but if I were going to Blacktown I wouldn't start from here.

Onwards we ride and upwards and until,
When nearly safely home in Rooty Hill,
We find the sign below.

If only this sign had been facing the other way...

For further information
Check
the website ere you ride.
And here the route
we
Took.

For an inzoomable map
of the route,
click here.

P.S. Who says writing poetry’s hard?
If you don’t try to make it rhyme,
Or scan
it’s
a pushover.

8 Comments

Filed under Cycling

8 responses to “CYCLING SYDNEY’S WILD WEST – poetry in stop-start motion

  1. Carol Warner

    Well done! Fabulous piece of poetry in cycle motion 🙂

  2. steven

    Hi Richard,
    loved the blog! will you be performing this one during school visits? Do I have both a riding companion and now a poetry comrade? Or will the poetry be, like Danny, put in the toybox to ‘never come out for the rest of my life, never, never, so there!’

  3. Pingback: PEDALLING POETS – waxing lyrical in lycra « Richard Tulloch's LIFE ON THE ROAD

  4. shawjonathan

    That’s brilliant, Richard

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