2010 Full Moon Rides

Stan Hill

The Full Moon rides are really quite safe—we haven’t damaged anyone since Charlie broke his arm a few years ago. Even the following encounter turned out well ‘cuz the person had properly prepared..

The Night of Claire

by A. Gnawni Mösse

A ride in the woods by the light of the moon
Is no challenge, or so it was said,
So I mounted my bike and turned on my lights
And away in the evening I sped.

As smooth as a turbine my drive train did run
As I reached the first tulgey glade.

Completely at ease, I passed under trees,
Breathing deeply and yet unafraid.

A sudden light clicking then came to my ear
And I wondered if it was the bike.
The volume and frequency seemed to increase
And something just didn’t seem right.

My pedals? My crankset? Perhaps the rear wheel?
My spokes being stress relieved?

But I’d checked all the torques and examined the forks.
No fault could be conceived.

And then I remembered the terrible squirrels
That run in the woods at night.
More cunning than weasels and faster than bats;
My blood ran cold with fright.

My mirror was useless, it bounced up and down;
I carefully looked to the back.
Not one running there in the LED glare. Not one . . . ,
But the whole freaking pack!

I knew in an instant the danger I faced,
For the squirrels of the bluffs are unreal.
Like furry piranha that scamper like rats;
They wanted my brand new wheel!

I knew in the morning they’d find my bones
Spread out by the side of the trail,
If I couldn’t pull off a quick finesse—
I had to deliver the mail!

I spun and I sweated and I grabbed a new gear
In the face of imminent death.
The grade was intense and my terror immense.
I smelt their squirrelly breath!

Just then I remembered that in my valise,
Which I’d strapped to the top of my bars,
I had peanuts and trail mix and Gatorade®
And a couple of candy bars.

I unzipped the bag and threw out the tools,
Which only impeded my hand:
An anvil, a tow chain, a hacksaw and such,
And a brand new truing stand.

I hated like fury to throw out that stand,
But I had to get to the food.
I whipped out the trail mix and tossed it back;
It halted that Hell spawned brood.

I sat at the top of the hill and wheezed,
As the squirrels devoured the nuts.
I’ll never take a ride on that trail again,
No ifs, no maybes, no buts!



The Bent Fork Chronicles - Vol 3 Issue 2 April 2010

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