forward

Every day is the same on a bike tour: You move forward. The scenery around you blends like watercolors until you realize you’re in New England, which is a quite different thing than Pennsylvania, or noble, tangled Virginia before that. And you’ll be surprised down the road to find yourself in the Midwest, in the desert, in the mountains, and, if you are tenacious and lucky enough, you will look around and blink and find that you have arrived at your destination.

Of course, you can’t think about that, not in the beginning, not even in the middle. You keep your eyes on the horizon and no further. The great constant of the horizon is this: It will never rise to meet you.