At times when it seems everyone is my judge, and my tasks form an impenetrable black wall before me, when my head hangs low and my heart wallows in meaningless sorrow. These are the times to feel the wind on my face. To force the pedals to do my bidding. To flee the clutches of civilization and grasp the freedom of the road with both hands as I hear the gentle hum of wheels caressing the pavement. To breathe freely the desert air on a sunlit morning. To stare across the tops of mountains and desert canyons bespeckled with cacti raising their arms to the sky in ceaseless worship. To gaze down on the beaten hill, master of me no longer. To feel the wind rush past as I forget the signs and limits and release myself to the higher laws of gravity and inertia. To raise my head and declare I have done something. In a time when all seems unfulfilled and wasted. I have climbed the hill though my legs are fatigued, though my breath is short, though I have had a flat tire and been abandonned by the group to seek my own glory, I have conquered.