Well hello there. Aren’t you just enjoying the these last winter/early spring days. I am. Totally stoked with my new-found love – skate skiing. I highly recommend it. If you’re looking for something as much fun as cycling and just as much hard effort, then, skate skiing is your ticket to high cardio. Why, we may even form a little group to head to the Gatineau several times a week next December-March. Something to think about. More to come on this front when we start cycling, itself.

On another note, the newspaper clipping below deals with a matter we shelved last year. Just wanting to bring it to your attention. I’m feeling less and less comfortable but I’m only one voice. Still, you’ll forgive me for mentioning it again.

Regarding the blog, I know many of you receive this directly into your email box. It’s worth noting that the formatting is better when also obtained via google – arnpriorcycling.blog. FYI.

What I’m listening to as I write – Van Morrison The Van Lose Stairway (brilliant). I just want to head out on the town and grab a cold one or two. So mellow, mellow, mellow. Alas, it would be a solely drink.

I’m wondering if you have ever been close but not quite close enough; have you ever been almost there but not quite there; yet, you continue ever hopeful, even while knowing it’s an impossibility.

Look forward to hearing from you should you feel inclined to write.

Okay, Stay fit, fine, firm always! Bye-bye, ac.

Comments always welcome at arnpriorcycling@bell.net; https://twitter.com/ArnpriorCycling;  arnpriorcycling.blog; https://www.instagram.com/

“My summit is just out of reach,” he said … “The first thing I will do is have a hot cup of tea, perhaps some cake.” Henry Worsley

Raglan Road

On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I may one day rue.
I saw the danger, yet I walked
Along the enchanted way
And I said let grief be a falling leaf
At the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November,
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The worst of passions pledged.
The Queen of Hearts still baking tarts
And I not making hay,
Well I loved too much; by such and such
Is happiness thrown away.
I gave her the gifts of the mind.
I gave her the secret sign
That’s known to all the artists who have
Known true Gods of Sound and Time.
With word and tint I did not stint.
I gave her reams of poems to say
With her own dark hair and her own name there
Like the clouds over fields of May.
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet,
I see her walking now away from me,
So hurriedly. My reason must allow,
For I have wooed, not as I should
A creature made of clay.
When the angel woos the clay, he’ll lose
His wings at the dawn of the day. Morrison/Kavanagh/Moloney