I’m pedalling, pedalling,
left then right, then left then right,
pushing the pedals to turn the chain,
to move the wheels that carry the frame,
under the saddle on which I sit,
steering the handlebars,
squeezing the brakes,
then pedalling more, pedalling more,
as up and down, up and down my knees get sore
driving us onward, my cycle and I
as one, pedalling on, pedalling by.
And all the while a thrill runs through me.
Wind blows in my face and there comes a memory
of that time, aged 4, I glanced round to see
my Dad was no longer running beside
holding the saddle, but was 10 yards behind.
'Keep pedalling, pedalling,' he shouted with pride,
whilst trying to quell my panic inside.
So I pedalled and pedalled, left nothing to chance,
and realised at once I’d found my balance.
This happened a lifetime ago, so it seems.
Since then I’ve been chasing improbable dreams,
riding along through cities and towns.
And life is a cycle full of ups and downs.
Chains come off and brakes can fail,
or you’re punctured riding over a rusty nail.
But that first great achievement back in ‘79
gives me hope that the future could still be mine.
All I have to do is keep pedalling, pedalling.