I read with excitement the story of the high school race on Peaks Trail. I have ridden that trail many times. I even made a short video of one of my rides a few years ago to show to my grandsons. The story brought back lots of memories.

Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was not able to get to Frisco to go biking this summer. I felt disappointed about not being there to ride. I also felt sad about not being able to breathe the fresh mountain air, see the golden aspen leaves, view the beautiful night sky and just enjoy the relaxation that comes with a visit to the mountains.

I wonder if the mountains missed me. Don’t laugh. All the television documentaries recently about the earth and its wonders made me hold that thought for a while. Just in case the mountains missed me as much as I missed them, I composed a short poem that Peak 7 might have written:

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I wait for bikes,
to roll along my dusty trails,
bouncing over rocks and roots,
like roaring streams out of their banks

I yearn for boots,
whose nob-filled soles
light upon my dry, dusty skin,
to tickle me each step they take

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My ears await voices,
words of fun and laughter sweet,
to fall gently onto my leaves 
covering them with love

I search for faces,
eyes filled with wide wonder,
watching as green leaves fade,
and gold rushes in

Quaking leaves shout together
echoing down my slopes;
When are you coming…
When are you coming?