Dead Ahead
I glance down at my bike's speedometer and note that I am hurtling downhill at 43 miles per hour. The wind whistles through the ventilation holes of my plastic helmet and caresses my face, which I keep tucked to lower resistance. Gliding through the nadir of the hard top road my bicycle and I swoop into the ascent of the subsequent rise. My legs pump while my hands grip the handlebar and my thumbs, in turn, click the bike into lower and lower gears. The resistance on my legs increases as the momentum from the descent wanes. Now it’s all push with my legs, which ache from seven previous miles of pedaling through the summer, early- morning mist. As I draft great gulps of air, the exhilaration of my rapid descent has been fully replaced by the grinding toil of the subsequent climb. My shirt is soaked with sweat. ...