The Charles sparkles in the late summer sunrise
Skulls on the Charles means activity on the Esplanade
Tourists
Exercise fanatics
Commuters
The cobble of asphalt, concrete, cinder along the river
a thoroughfare of morning activity.
Here comes a tourist of some kind
riding a rental bike
more time spent looking out than ahead.
The dry unlubricated creak of an untended chain announces
the arrival of an oft ridden road bike, exercise machine,
rider not mechanically inclined.
Same for the agonizing derailleur clack and death throes
of an old steel frame road bike
many miles on that frame, many riders
rusty.
The painful groaning of the rental bikes
left to suffer the New England gales of summer
a season anticipating a ride and regretting the opportunity
these machines suffer the most,
if a machine can.
The next one comes in a flash
a lycra clad dart up the pathway
a Strava segment in the making.
Onward a commuter, seated upright, casual
pants lashed tight with a strap
panniers bulging with an unknown mystery of
unmysterious worker bee artifacts.
A couple passes, talking loudly to carry voices single file
too much traffic at this hour
for two abreast
love will have to get in line.
A handbike rider struggles up a hill, the guy asks for help
a quick nudge urges him on his way
of all others I wish him the best of mornings.
All the sights, sounds, the smell of the river, the rhythmic stroke of skulls
the din of automobile traffic,
commuters traveling a less enjoyable path.
The cacophony of wheel hum, frame vibration, jingling, gnashing
shifting, groaning, wheezing, huffing, clunking
the sound of an oncoming humid wind
rushes past from behind.
Occasionally the courteous ‘on your left’
or tinging hello of a bell,
not a honk or shout
so common a Bostonian commuter gesture,
a signal of presence in a mindful way,
theirs and mine
passing me neighborly
as I run.
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