203 - I used to cycle through this British isle

I used to cycle through this British isle
Till I could barely stand up for backache.
I pushed the pedals uphill as a trial
Of strength, and then lay flat as a pancake,
Or, sweaty, sat for a cigarette break;
Wet, swigging milk, trying to snap the view
Of hills and dales, of mills and sails ashake
On moaning moors, blustery bays. A few
Likeminded hardy souls have cycled, too,
Through walls of wind and squalls of rain, through vile
Cold Mays and Junes, sun’s rays and moon’s. Mistake
Or madness? I don’t really have a clue.
But, as I drive this undulating mile,
I smile at my old friends. This hill. That lake.
Mon 26 Mar 2007