TR: Tiger wipe-out

[Rad]

Often the best wipe-outs have nothing to do with climbing, ropes, or failing gear. Got a story to share? Here's one of mine:

 

.................................

 

She’s more kitten than Tiger, I had said to my friend,

Who replied we should run to the top, to the end,

And so it was that he and I

Braved the deluge of a December sky,

And traveled the well-trodden interstate route

To the gravel lot crouched at her misty old foot.

 

 

The cool 206ers with gear from the net

Were really not keen on getting all wet,

So while they chatted on cell phones and headed for bars

In their sleek heated, all-wheel drive, subaru cars,

We stripped to our shorts, no we didn’t complain,

We laced up our tennies and ran in the rain,

Prancing off through the puddles in search of the summit

Hoping we'd find our own Gene Kelly moment.

 

 

We danced up the trail through the glistening woods,

Pretending we still got the looks and the goods,

We’d hoped to hold pace and not have to stop,

To be strong and save face on our dash to the top,

 

 

But as the trail slowly steepened,

My body was weakened,

And despite all our stories and jokes in the rain,

I could feel my thighs burn in splinters of pain,

We kept on though my vision was starting to blur,

Is my mind playing tricks or did that kitten just purr?

 

 

My friend is quite chatty and never complains,

He smiled through the mud, through the drizzle, the rain,

I listened and nodded, just glad to be there,

But in truth I was sucking that cool misty air

Down into my lungs just as fast I could,

Pretending a stop would not really feel good.

 

 

At last came the top, we were weary but proud,

Though the summit was shrouded in a bank of low clouds,

So we stood and just dripped, more from sweat than from dew,

With no one else present to share the non-view,

We were chilled by the wind that now shrieked in a howl,

And that not-so-tame cat was just starting to growl.

 

 

It was on the way down that I found my true stride

On a small, nearly hidden route off to one side,

I shot down the chutes of that muddy old trail,

Riding wet roots like a skate punk rides rails,

Cold, wet, and wired we were tripping on laughter,

Sliding and slipping, averting disaster,

It was then as we launched off small rocks over gaps,

Swung round the tree trunks, our hands marked with sap,

That I felt that old magic of boyhood return,

Careening me back through the years with each turn.

 

 

At last came the flats and we dashed through the forest,

Moss, fallen leaves and mud raced before us,

Then one final bridge and the day would be done,

Pulse pounding glory, if not in the sun,

 

 

As a nod to Gene Kelly and our wonderful day,

When I crossed that last bridge I thought I would play

And bask in the moment of one long good slide,

Twas part moonwalk, part skateboard, part side-slipping glide,

But instead I soon learned when my feet left the ground,

That the wood was quite slicker than any I’d found,

With no time to react, I fell flat on my back,

And continued my slide like a train off the track

I went straight off the bridge and into the mud,

The tiger had roared, and I was no stud,

 

 

I brushed myself off and dabbed at some blood,

And my friend had to laugh as any friend should,

We soon reached the end, stretched our legs and departed,

More than a little light-headed, but also light-hearted,

As we stank in the car, drenched in sweat, blood and rain,

We were wondering aloud when we’d do it again.

 

[catbirdseat]

That was rad! Most excellent!

[sobo]

Truly poetic. How long did it take you to write that?

[Rad]

 

Inspired by CC poets

 

Somewhere between off the cuff and long in the rough.

 

So don't y'all have any stories of wipe-outs?

 

Forget the rhymes. Make us laugh.