Triglav National Park
You don’t need a guide
when you’re trying to get lost
an orange road bike
jumping, stiff along country roads
dropped handlebars
lock you in place
inseparable
your wheels buzz content
I left Bled, flying
road unwinding
dodging chickens clucking
through the small town streets
the national park welcomed me like an old friend
a new friend
unpronounceable names
cultural ignorance
the misty valley was quiet
no music but the whir of wind
no distractions but
the silence of a forest
a cottage passed in a blur
spontaneously
I felt the weight of wilderness
a turquoise stream rolled on the right
incomprehensible color
caribbean clarity
turning the commonplace into a fairytale
a fairyland
the feeling of being able to workout again
to push
reckless locomotion
produced from within
tapping into the wild, the physical
eyes wide, dilated pupils
legs like steel cables
made, seemingly,
just for today
a lifetime spent preparing
for a bike ride
working the hills like a madman
fueling injury-aggression into
pumping pistons
the anger melting to appreciation
to simply flying along
a cliché “whoop” slips unintentionally from my smiling lips as I hit tear-causing speeds
on absurd downhills
this is living