Overnight I rode on the streets, the small path just everywhere I rode
With puddles across which I skilfully rode.
The unending traffic always horrific just increased my love for riding
Through the gaps, bikes nudge happy on the cycle, hold no grudge I became a darling to the Kampala Road faithful.
With cars parked on the busy main road unmindful of the way traffic is slowed I always enjoyed my riding.
With music plugged into my eyes, carefree and carelessly I rode, I felt I was the landlord to all the streets in my city.
With the jam grinding the traffic to a halt and I shifted to the pavement from asphalt, life was as beautiful as I could only imagine.
Saturdays were my days as I had school to attend too, I rode across the city, and oooh boy it was just lovely.
Often times my bicycles were stolen but mama always bought another, and it was as though she was telling me to ride on.
Where the traffic is noisy and frustrating music always enwrapped my surroundings.
And today I recall the days when I had the most beautiful and expensive sports bike in town are gone. I am looking for my riders or the new breed but to find none.
Every Saturday we used to stop at the Luigi Ridge Bay to clean our bikes, freshen up then move on but now the Ridge holds no riders.
Can it be a memorial ride for the riders to have yet another glance at the beautiful Luigi Ridge? But we have spread the world over.
When the hills of my city are grounded and levelled: The Riders Ridge leaves everlasting memories.
