You have seen him before. 

On multiple occasions. 

Perhaps as many as five or six times a day. 

Seven days a week. 

He has no name. 

But I named him. 

You have never met him. 

But you have met him. 

You just never knew you did. 

He is everywhere. 

But not memorable. 

He is white. 

Thirty-two years old. 

Six-foot, one inch tall. 

AKA 185CM 

A week of ‘growth’ on his face. 

But, attended ‘growth.’ 

He never looks directly at the camera. 

He never will. 

He looks away. 

Not far away, but away. 

He has things to think about. 

‘Stuff’ on his mind. 

He never smiles.

Determined.

His mouth is closed. 

He wears glasses and a helmet. 

A late summer tan. 

A little sweat to give the glisten. 

A tattoo on his right calf. 

A small one on his forearm. 

He stands slightly on his bike. 

One leg extended. 

One leg bent. 

Off he goes. 

His arms tense to show muscle. 

There is a hill in the background. 

A quiet road. 

There are other photos of him too. 

Close-ups. 

He is looking away. 

Same glimpse of his muscles in his calves and arms. 

He is kind of turned, slightly looking back. 

Other times he is stopped and faces the camera. 

One leg extended, one leg still on a pedal. 

He is looking down at his extended leg. 

Or his ‘go-to’ photo. 

The one shot he feels can convey his true emotions. 

Sitting on the crossbar of his bike. 

Arms folded across his chest. 

Looking off to the ride, he may or may not do. 

Who is he? 

You know exactly who he is. 

I do too. 

But you do not know his name. 

I do. 

I named him. 

…Chip. 

‘Chip, the guy every Cycling Company on Instagram uses in their ads.’ 

Insert sighing emoji here. 

‘There is another way to ride.’ 

It is only May, and I already have my summer song.