A Cormac McCarthy-inspired poem for Father's Day

Happy Father’s Day, fathers and father figures.

Today’s post goes out to new dads, old dads and dads who’ve lost dads. (So, basically all dads.)

Full disclosure … I had help from artificial intelligence today. My prompt was this: Write a poem for Father's Day with a focus on mountain biking in the voice of Cormac McCarthy.

I thought of this prompt because McCarthy, a gifted novelist, died earlier this week at the age of 89. He left behind two sons, Cullen and John. I haven’t lost my dad, but I can imagine it’s tough to lose the man who raised you — whether that’s your biological dad or a father figure.

McCarthy was … dark.

“Do you think that your fathers are watching? That they weigh you in their ledgerbook? Against what? There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.”

But his words are moving and his stories, legendary. What I like about his work is that they could be understood by people of every background. And he never publicly shared his political views. It was all about the story, the art. He didn’t let politics get in the way of his craft. David Holloway, a professor of political science at Standford, once said McCarthy’s writing “can be read as either liberal or conservative, or as both simultaneously, depending on the politics that readers themselves bring with them to the act of reading the work."

And so, today, we’re going to bring with us our bias for riding bikes, specifically, mountain bikes.

fearless souls

In rugged realms where wheels find their trace,
Upon the trails of earth's untamed grace,
There rides a man, with calloused hands,
A father fierce, in timeless lands.

His steed of metal, strong and true,
Beneath the sun, with skies so blue,
Together they soar on nature's spine,
In the realm where man and mountain intertwine.

Through valleys deep, and canyons wide,
He pedals on, with unwavering stride,
A silent dance with earth's rough face,
Where solitude and danger embrace.

In the heart of chaos, his spirit roams,
Where mighty rivers carve ancient stones,
He battles gravity's relentless pull,
A dance with death, yet feeling so full.

He navigates the rocky slopes,
As perilous as the words he wrote,
With every twist and turn he takes,
His soul awakens, his spirit wakes.

Through the thicket's thorns, the rivers' flow,
He faces the winds that fiercely blow,
And in his wake, his children see,
A father's strength, unyielding and free.

For on this day, we celebrate,
The fearless souls who illuminate,
The path they tread, the trails they blaze,
In the wild expanse where freedom stays.

So here's to you, dear father bold,
Whose love is written, never told,
In the language of the mountain's roar,
Your tireless spirit, forevermore.

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I hope you all have a great day. Get out and ride.