A cyclist rides through town early on a Sunday, and the poem follows him pedal by pedal. The opening is blunt about the discomfort: heavy breathing, creaking knees, a sore back, and the smell of garbage in the air. But the refrain, "Cycling, cycling, cycling," keeps the rhythm of the ride going, and each time it returns the morning gets a kinder label: "great," then "good," then "lovely."
That shift shows what the speaker feels. The body complains, but his mood lifts. He says he could love the old men on cycles "warts and all," and he gently scorns the cars and bikes around him. Later the poem fills with sounds and smells, like the sea, jets, crows, waves and children, all "by" him as he passes. The ending's squealing horn and ringing bell sound almost playful. The overall mood is cheerful, easygoing and appreciative of ordinary life.