I thank the shop keep. I take hold of the bicycle and walk it out a little. It whinnys softly under my firm grip. I pat it on the head, "We have far to go."
The sun beats down relentlessly on me, and I can see heat waves emanating from the black asphalt. It looks ready to turn back into the tar from whence it came. Not a cloud blemishes the sky. The air is dead still. There will be no refuge today.
I push out the kickstand, and walk around it, inspecting it. Tires are crisp and new, a pattern of serpentine dragons race around each wheel. The pedals small, with little stirrups for my feet. The body a flawless obsidian, but the sun shining off of it shows that its veins are a deep blue. It almost looks like a dark ocean of water seething within a typhoon. The handlebars curve down, like twin black swans bowing down.
I reach behind me, pulling earbuds from a hidden compartment on the right side of my sack. I push them firmly into my ears. The sounds of rushing traffic, joggers plodding by, and the crashing waves are replaced with a driving drumbeat. Bass drums kick in. Synths announce themselves. Hands clap along with the beat, I am nearly inclined to join in with them. He begins to sing: the words are simple but truthful, the orchestra jumps in to emphasize his lyrics. I begin to bob my head.
Swinging a leg over the body of the bike, I secure my left foot onto the stirrup. I grind my foot in just a bit, ensuring it won't go anywhere. I push off with my right, wobbling slightly until i catch my other foot in it's stirrup. I push down once and feel myself lurch forward slightly. I push again, moving a little faster. Again and again I stomp down, willing the bike to a gallop. Even though the wind isn't present, as I pick up speed I can feel the air rushing past me, kissing the hair that pushes up through the spaces in my helmet. The fabric wings on the side of my helmet begin to flap, beating on the sides of my head. The journey has begun.
I raise and fall with the drums, the metronome keeping track of my ascent. The asphalt is packed looser here, likely due to the proximity of the water running to my right. People move out of the way to make room for me. They almost sense the urgency I convey in my pedaling, my red backpack must announce the precious cargo within it. The communique that must be delivered within the hour. I imagine the clapping in my ears is coming from them, cheering me on as I charge past.
A little girl waves to me from the side, waving a long tassel. It looks like the ribbon of a rhythmic gymnast. She is mouthing something to me, but I can't hear it over the blaring music. She launches the wooden handle into the air, perfectly timed to fall right into my path. I grab the handle without missing a beat, and the ribbon is violently yanked from it's graceful fall into a sudden pursuit of me. I can feel it tugging on the handle grasped in my hand, whipping around behind me. I turn slightly and fasten the handle to the left side of my sack. I catch a glimpse of the red ribbon, waves forming in it that mirror the steady fall of my feet on the pedals.
The wind has picked up a little, coming in from behind me and racing along with me. I can feel it creeping in around my ear buds, hissing loudly, trying to be heard over the music, "Are you mad? You cannot outrun me!" The river beside me, not to be outdone, also seems to pick up. I can see the water start to froth a bit, white waves begin to pick up speed beside me, also racing alongside, "Wait for me too!"
The bass drops from the music.
As if to prove its point, the air slows to a still: I am flying across the black path, the grass beside me is writhing in the wind, but I am galloping alongside it. My hair is perfectly still in my helmet. The water beside me looks still as it matches my speed. A white wave seems almost frozen as it speeds along with me.
The bass kicks back in, heavier than ever before. The wind and the river take their cue, and pick up the speed. As fast as I am moving, the wind is now pushing on my back. The wave races on past me. I smile slightly, knowing I have been beat. I even raise a hand in a half wave, conceding defeat.
The tops of my arms feel crisp. Toasted by the sun high overhead. In the short period I have been riding, my arms seem almost a shade darker. A bead of sweat traces a line over my cheek, and pools at the bottom of my chin. My constant rise and fall ensures it doesn't linger there for long.
The path takes a bend to the left around a hill, and the river widens into a small lake to my right. The path seems to decline slightly, giving my calves a slight break as I coast downhill.
Around the bend, I can see how far the path goes. It stretches out in front of me, bending back to the right, hugging the lake. The water here is still, lapping gently on the surface. The path continues past it, and into the distance, ending at the golden citadel stretching towards the sky. My destination.
It stands tall and proud, no other structure, man made or natural, comes close to it's sheer size or beauty. It dwarfs the small, grey, ugly buildings around it. Like a king amongst his lowliest servants. The sun glints off it, the top of the building shining, the towers on top glittering like it's crown. This is where I am headed.
It will be a long afternoon before I get there.
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