Hand Riding

This is the writing on the hand that gripped the handlebars of the bike going south then west bumping over train tracks and gliding by mansions, running streams, leafy woods, inky black cows chewing at the fence, lurching up hills, zipping past a family reunion taking a group photo in front of a red barn at a historic farm next to more farms and even more farmland down to a vineyard which was kinda close to a road (marked on the hand) that was supposed to turn into another road but didn't to end up by houses with POW flags and rusty grain elevators and shiny fire engines and a big man who shook his head (and probably rolled his eyes) and penciled directions leading east past the flea market and the old school and then north up to the pond with the boat and pulley where I knew where I was and sighed and decided to toss the directions and get lost again east past tractors and sodden fields under undecided grayness and flowing with juicy legs finishing the 26 miles at home with a peanut butter sandwich.