The Smell on My Bike

It is not really my bike, but I ride it. The tires are slightly flat so that they make a funny noise when I ride. My weight slightly squishes the tube. These poor man's shocks give me a smooth ride until I grimace when the rough Michigan road makes me hit the rim. 

As I ride, I smell. Riding on the current of the wind, the smell of lilacs fills my environment. It transforms the air into a sweet dessert. I ride through fruit preserve spread thickly on toast. I can feel the coarse, pitted surface of the toast against my tires. I struggle to pedal through this viscous air. 

I am suddenly hit by exhaust that fills my face. Now I am riding once again on broken roads through polluted air.