The Randonneur

Bicyclist standing next to his bike against a dark ember sky

“Push through Gary—you’ll never break away if you give up now.”

“The sun’s setting, and fifty miles to go. Keep going and maybe you’ll get there.”

“And quit talking to yourself. Sing something, anything.”

Stayin alive, Stayin alive.

“Not that.”

Oh oh oh.

“Why, brain, why?”

100 beats per minute, keep the cadence, pedal with me.

Stayin aliiiiiiiii…

Gary’s problem with distance cycling events in the desert—besides annoying earworms and conversations with his wandering subconscious—was the only cool days of the year to do it were also the shortest, and forty miles of desert dustbowl between you and another human was the last place he wanted to be after dark. Well, the second to last place.

The blood orange desert twilight lit the way for a while, but a car might still miss his bright yellow bike, the blinking lights, the layers of reflective tape over his jersey and across his backside. Not that he saw another soul out driving or pedaling from what troubled them.

Come to think, where are all the other riders? Where is everyone?

A jackrabbit answered by bolting a few feet in front of him, pausing long enough to size up this slow-assed yellow horse, before taking off into a field.

Gary checked his speed on his smartwatch.

“I’m still holding eighteen-miles per hour; I’ll have you know.” Gary yelled to the long-gone rabbit. “Let’s see you keep up your little rabbit speed tricks for two hundred k.”

You’re talking to rabbits now. How about more pedaling?

“Oh, you can see the way I pedal my bike, I’m lonely man…no time to hike…”

No—just no.

Gary rode out of the sunset back toward home, holding a cadence a few beats shy of what he should. It wasn’t a race, just an endurance challenge—a randonnée, but no signs of other riders since lunch gave him a smirk and kept the legs pumping. He let the time alone seep into him through every breath. Home was coming soon enough. No need to rush.

Old farm fields to either side of the road lay barren, the desert unsure whether to reclaim them. Behind and up ahead, rocky hills marked the boundaries of the valley, covered in the same brush and the occasional roadside cholla cactus threatening to jump at his tires. Nothing to stop the wind and dust from blowing into dust devils and pattering Gary’s face.

The valley ended, stars caught up, and the sun pulled away over the horizon. Nature decided it the perfect time to send a headwind just as he began to climb. He downshifted, did it again, and again. He put the front gear into the little ring and still pushed.

“Oh, come on.” He got up out of the saddle and tried to climb in earnest, but the wind answered with a gust flat into his chest. His legs didn’t like the idea of standing anyway. He tucked down to slow-crank his way up the climb.

Story of my life.

The beating in his ears ran faster than he could pedal and time slower than either. Sweat dripped down from his helmet and navigated the edge of Gary’s left eye, thwarted only by an eyelash.

Thank you for small gifts. At least I’m not blinded by my own sweat.

The thought almost had time to bring the smirk back to his face when the road blurred.

Whoa,” Gary sat upright in the saddle and stopped pedaling. The bike rolled to a stop within seconds, a split moment to kick a foot out of its pedal. He reached out the leg to touch the road, only to feel the bike tipping the opposite way.

Dirt scraped under his left shoulder as he slid off the edge of the road, leaving Gary to feel the sting of humility and of a minor case of road rash.

He rolled onto his back, twisting and setting free the leg still attached to bike. A welcome thunk accompanied the pedal letting go, as a breeze blew a wisp of dust directly into his eye.

“Gah”, He shielded his face from the wind, contorting to wipe the eye against his shoulder. Nature and the road still conspired against him. Maybe they talked to his husband.

Gary took a deep breath, laying on his back.

The stars greeted him. The crisp desert air gave a clear view of the night, as planes blinked by a sliver of moonlight. Four planes blinked, flying in an orderly row. First four, then five, and six. One by one, more blinking lights joined until the whole sky flickered in a wave from east to west, the stars going out and coming back ten or more times before Gary shut his eyes tight, took a deep inhale, and opened again.

Nothing but night. No stars. No planes. Darkness.

A blink later all was normal, save Gary, whose eyes grew wide, and dust be damned, now stared at the sky.

Not a stroke. It can’t be a stroke. I just overexerted myself on the hill. Please.

He closed his eyes, took one last breath, and opened them to a normal sky and a sore shoulder.

“Take it easy pal. A randonnée’s not a race.” Gary looked up to find a hand outstretched. The rider left his recumbent bike and stood offering help. “You ok? I saw you hammering your way up that hill.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Gary scrunched his brow. How did someone that close behind escape his notice? He gave his head a shake. “The sky went a bit wonky there for a minute. I outdid myself.”

“Need some water? Something more substantial? You never know if you’re gonna be out here longer than you plan or go someplace unexpected.” Standing upright, the man looked off and up to the sky. He wore the usual cycling gear but sported a beard long enough to tangle in the gears. It was a good thing he rode recumbent.

“No, plenty left in my bag. Thanks for the hand.” He brushed the dirt off his shoulder, noticing the jersey, torn where he hit the gravel. It stung, but nothing would help that except getting back to civilization. “What do you think we got left? Twenty, thirty miles?”

The man turned to face up the road. “Yup, I’d say about 40k. This is the last big hill. We’ll probably see Tucson as soon as we crest this. Nice clear night for it. Nearly a full moon.”

“Hey Luce, I’m home!” Gary hobbled in through the door on two sticks of lumber resembling legs, giving his best Ricky Ricardo impression. Luce hated that joke, but it was best to come in swinging. Luce hated his cycling hobby, and the fight over today’s event was due to be epic.

Smells of cinnamon wafted through the house as Gary unloaded his bottles into the kitchen sink. Luce was nowhere, but from the warmth of the oven he obviously had been up to something. Gary cocked his head at the item baking.

Cinnamon rolls?

“Hey stinky,” Luce rounded the corner and sized Gary up and down. “Cat didn’t bother dragging you in, eh?”

“Love you too.” Gary opened his arms for a hug before Luce bolted down the hall. “Oh, come on. You’re going to let a dozen hours of road grime and sweat between us?”

“I’ll answer that after you shower.” The response echoed from the far end of their place.

“About to head there.” Gary called back. It was a far better reaction than he hoped for. “Hey, what’s with the cinnamon rolls? I thought you were allergic.”

“I love cinnamon.” Luce’s head poked out from the doorway at the end of the hall as Gary headed to the bedroom.

To that, Gary could only shake his head. Maybe he did have a stroke. He distinctly remembered Luce needing a shot once for this exact reason. A step into a truck stop with an unexpected cinnamon bun shoppe nearly did him in a few years back.

The water washed away the grime and sucked its way back into his skin like a sponge. He let the shower pulse into the tight spots. Gary stood, eyes closed, and let the day unfold in his mind.

What happened out there? Should I see a doctor? Should I tell Luce?

I was overdoing it. I should rest.

As he toweled off, the scent hit him again. The whole house smelled of cinnamon now. If it weren’t so strange it’d be glorious and reminded Gary how many calories he’d burned out there.

“Those cool enough to eat?” He said, walking into the kitchen in shorts with a towel over his shoulder.

Luce answered by looking up with a still steaming bun in hand. A bite clearly taken from its side and mouth open wide, fanning his face to show how hot they still were.

Gary shook his head again, fought back the instinct to run for the emergency med bag, and reached over to take the bun from Luce. “I’m not letting you be the only one in this house with a burnt mouth, Give me that.”

“Oh no, this one’s mine, biker boy.” He spun around and made to grab another bite.

Gary reached over Luce trying for the roll, but the aches of the ride left him too slow for his squirrely husband who dodged under the arm and somehow got behind Gary to take another bite and finish off his roll.

To add insult, Luce took Gary’s towel to clean the sticky icing from his fingers. “Half the tray is for you though.” Luce smiled and pointed to the stove where the remaining rolls invited a gurgle from Gary’s stomach.

“You do know how to say welcome home.” Gary went for the stove.

As he lifted a roll from the pan the towel snapped at his back side. “Just glad you made it back.” Luce smiled and tossed the weapon of fabric over his back, giving Gary a come-hither grin. “Get your energy back up, and I’ll rub out some of those kinks in your legs.”

“You are full of surprises today.” Gary said and took a bite. The last time he asked for such a treatment Luce pulled out a coupon app and bought him a discount massage from the parlor down the street.

Gary’s mouth opened wide at the steaming hot pastry. He shoved past Luce to the fridge to grab something cold.

Morning arrived too soon, and the aches were no better. Luce helped. Luce helped a lot—more than in months—but Gary still made his way to the bathroom in the gait of a man twice his age. Why did he do an event on a Sunday?

He did his best to ready for work. Luce was already long gone on his commute. On the way out, Gary took one glance at his bike and decided to run a bit late.

He took off from the front door and walked two blocks to the station. Fate smiled, and Gary walked up to the platform as a train pulled up. He glanced at his watch, 7:05; the train was either five minutes late or ten early. Either way it made up for some lost time.

“The Smith case is waiting for you.” Gary’s assistant Henry slapped a folder onto his desk before he had the chance to open his bag.

“Smith? They aren’t due until next week. I thought we were still waiting for legal review.” He furled his brow and yanked his laptop from the bag. Flipping it open and tapping the desk until it logged on, Gary stood stunned at the schedule.

  • 7:30-8:15 Smith
  • 8:30-9:15 Newton
  • 9:30-10:15 Miller

“None of these were on my schedule last week. Did someone mess with my calendar?”

“Obviously, someone went into your calendar, shifted the dates, and called to inform your clients without you knowing.”

Gary had to think about that.

“You can ponder it all you want after lunch. Client. In the waiting room.” Henry pointed the direction Gary should be walking.

He shook the confusion from his head, grabbed the laptop, and got to it.

Luce came home with the usual pale of shell-shocked exhaustion that comes from an hour in traffic. Gary tried to return the previous day’s favor with takeout from Luce’s favorite place. The table lay set and ready, a bottle of Dijon mustard sat at Luce’s plate, a joke from an early date at the same restaurant.

Gary flinched as a couple of dazed blinks told him to nix the idea of a romantic dinner. He reached to take a hand and lead his weary spouse to a chair.

“Rough day?” Gary sat and lay his own napkin over his lap, ready to dig in. “You’d normally fawn over Rose’s.”

“You could say that. Been a while since we had this.” Luce picked up a fork.

Gary had to think. It felt like only a week or two ago.

“How about you? Something wrong?” Luce glanced up from a bite.

“Do I seem that off?” Gary realized he still had his first bite on his fork held since they sat down.

“You look about as dazed as I am, but you have that cozy job and easy commute.” Gary remembered why he married this guy.

“Everything’s off. Ever since last night. I still swear you’re allergic to cinnamon. My schedule was all changed this morning. Even the trains aren’t running at the same times.”

“I’ve never been allergic to cinnamon, Love. Remember the time I nearly fell over from the air at that truck stop? I can’t get enough.”

Gary gazed directly into Luce’s eyes. “I remember having to give you an epi pen at that truck stop. You did nearly fall over. You couldn’t breathe.”

“Ok, now you’re straight up hallucinating.” Luce took a bite of food and his eyes turned to the table, to the bottle of Dijon. “Next you’re going to tell me I love this pretentious assed stuff.” He picked up the bottle and made to toss it aside. Gary flinched again at the potential for smashed glass, but for once, Luce put it down.

Gary went pale. “Luce, do you remember our third date?”

“Of course.” Luce waggled his eyebrows at Gary. “You want to relive some old memories?”

Gary felt a flush, but smiled, nonetheless. “Not that part. No, the restaurant, Rose’s. This place.” He pointed to the table. “You brought me there because it was your favorite, but I tried to be funny and asked the waiter if they had any of this mustard. He must have taken me seriously because they went and bought a bottle right there on the spot. You nearly fainted.”

“I think I’d remember, and Rose’s isn’t my favorite. That’s Lucille’s, Italian, not French.” He gestured to the table and back to himself.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Gary fixated on the table, on his memories.

“Honestly, can’t blame you. Last time we ate Rose’s a roach ran past our table.” He tossed his napkin aside. “You must have overdone yourself yesterday. Let’s go for ice cream. That always cheers you up.”

Gary’s jaw dropped, and he grabbed the table to steady himself.

“Luce, I’m lactose intolerant.”

Gary stared down at the arrows leading across the floor of the urgent care waiting room.

What’s happening to me? What happened to me. His mind kept going back to the moment on the hillside. The blurry vision, the stars. It had to be a stroke or something.

It was their third wait in the little clinic’s chairs. The first went quick. When they told the receptionist he had a stroke, they took him right in and nearly called an ambulance before Luce explained it happened yesterday. After the initial exam though, things slowed. Four hours to get a CT scan and now waiting for results.

Gary got up, followed the arrows around the room, and nudged his way out the door. He leaned back against the brick wall in front of the clinic and finally lifted his head to Luce, busy writing out information on a form while following close, and for the second time that day he remembered how much he loved this man.

“The memories are so specific.” Gary muttered. “I remember it all so clearly. You’re not gaslighting me or something right?”

That got Luce to look up. “Honey, if I were, would I be about to shell out urgent care copay?”

A smile crept back to Gary’s face. Still, none of it made sense.

Gary looked up. The airplanes blinked overhead. A helicopter whirred by. He couldn’t make out the stars over the city lights.

“The stars.” Gary didn’t realize he said it out loud until Luce took his hand.

“What’s that, babe?”

“What?” Gary turned, “Oh nothing, just remembering some wild visions from when I fell.”

“All the more reason to get you examined.” They stood looking at each other with the cool rush of wind as cars drove by.

Gary didn’t know how much time passed before a murmur of his name escaped through the doorway. He gave Luce a pursed lip smile, took a breath and went inside.

A nurse practitioner came into the exam room. “From what I see, you don’t have any obvious indications of a stroke or concussion. You aren’t slurring. No facial weakness. Neuro looks good. It sounds like heat exhaustion or over exertion.” She tilted her head one way and another to look him over and think through her options. “Just take lots of rest and fluids for now, and maybe keep a journal of these false memories. If they keep happening after a week, come back, and I’ll refer you to a neurologist. Sound good?”

Gary sat with his mouth agape, but eventually nodded.

Luce came to his side and escorted Gary back out to the lobby, took care of the remaining paperwork, and guided him out to the car.

“There really is something wrong.” Gary turned slowly to plead at Luce, “You believe me, right?”

“I think I answered that already. Let’s get you home. It’s late.”

Gary stared out the car window up at the sky again. For those few stars that got their light through the pink hue of city lights, the haze brought out a twinkle. That moment kept coming back. A few planes traveled the same paths they had Sunday night. An airline route of some sort.

Luce looked over, laying a hand on Gary’s thigh. “What are you looking for?”

The stars didn’t have an answer, and he didn’t have one for Luce. His heart thudded in his chest as though he were riding again. The moment sparked through his mind, a crisp bite of memory.

Luce was different. Work was different. It was only Monday. What else changed? What would tomorrow bring? How long would he go on doubting, wondering whether anything was true?

“I need to go home.”

“Finally, you’re talking some sense. Let’s get home.” Luce made a turn heading toward their townhouse.

Gary gazed over to those worried and loving eyes and nodded. His bike was at home.

Luce paused at their bedside the next morning before heading out the door. Gary usually woke despite his husband’s care to be quiet, but he never let on. He kept his eyes closed and let Luce take comfort in a little normalcy.

As soon as the door shut Gary threw on his jersey and bike shorts and headed to the kitchen. A long ride took lots of calories. He eyed the cinnamon rolls. Ideal, but not right.

He mounted the bike on the car and got a feeling of forgetting something. He scanned the garage and spied the pump and helmet sitting right where he left them.

“Maybe my memory is going.” Gary shook away the thought. He had to slow down and think through his checklists. Not his list, Luce was the one who made the checklist. At least his other Luce did—the one who fought with him over this ride until he was almost too exhausted to go. That Luce still cared enough to make sure he packed everything. This new Luce looked at him with eyes that wanted all Gary had to offer and more. They hadn’t fought once in two nights. Even the trip into the doctor went without a snide remark.

What was he trying to go back to? The thought twisted Gary’s stomach. He knew he had to go. He couldn’t pass judgement. Was this place better? The possibility bubbled to the back of his throat before swallowing down.

Gary jumped out of the car, went into the house, and found the list. It still bore his checkmarks next to Luce’s handwritten notes.

  • Banana
  • Lunch
  • Drink mix
  • Water bottles x 4
  • Helmet
  • Spare tubes x 2
  • Gloves
  • Phone w/ extra batt
  • Lights
  • Pump
  • Extra banana
  • Kiss your husband

Gary got the same smile to his lips as he had Sunday morning. He needed that reminder, but a frown replaced it as he saw what he forgot. He scrambled back through the house, finding his gloves and extra battery, then back to the kitchen to grab one more bottle off the shelf.

He checked the list again, and the last item hit Gary in the chest. He sat down to write a note.

Dearest Luce, …

Gary crumpled the letter and started over. If he came on too melodramatic Luce was liable to call in the search teams.


Still getting my head around things. Taking another long ride to clear the senses. I’ll be late. Don’t worry. I re-used your list.



This was a bad idea.

Twenty miles into the ride, Gary’s legs were solid bricks. The fatigue from Sunday wouldn’t let go. He checked his pace, and it barely registered 20kph.

When did I switch from miles to kilometers?

He got up from the saddle and shifted his weight around, trying to use different muscle groups. He slowed even more, unclipping his feet, and shaking out his legs.

This is gonna be a long day.

He still had the randonnée route. Rest stops on the sheet planned out the trip—a gas station here, a friendly roadside dive there—but the stops were far more welcome than they were Sunday. Most of the time he didn’t even need to refill bottles, but he did anyway just to stretch.

“They say an active recovery is best.” Gary said out loud, shaking out a leg.

“They do at that.” A familiar face rode up in his recumbent, the same waist-length beard identifying the man he last met on a darkened road.

“You too?” Gary nearly fell over as he had one ankle held in his grip, stretching a leg.

“I’m out here most days. I saw your little car at the trailhead. I was just going to take an hour or two, but I figured if you were out here, I might catch you on the randonnée route. How far you going?”

“As far as it takes.” Not sure how to answer, Gary shrugged. “I figured my heart will tell me when it’s time to turn around or keep going.”

“Spoken like a true randonneur.” The man nodded. “I on the other hand, am loosening up the joints and headed back. Been at this too many decades to have anything to run from.”

“I’m not running.” Gary cocked his head, not so sure.

“I don’t mean to imply. Just seen that look of yours in the mirror a few times. I might just be nostalgic. Mind if I pace you a while?”

“Sure, feel free. You know the route.” Gary shrugged.

The road kept conversation light, but riding together helped them keep a solid pace. By lunchtime Gary checked his watch again and they were up to averaging 25kph.

“Thanks for the nudge.” Gary nodded to the man. “Hey, I never got your name. I’m Gary.”

“Phil.” He nodded back as they both broke out sandwiches. “Hope you find what you’re riding for out here. I keep going back to these roads too. Helps keep my memories straight.” Phil tapped on his head.

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping.” Gary gave the man a side-eye.

“I thought you might.” Phil returned the look. “It helps, don’t get me wrong. More than once I found myself out on these roads, riding up a mountain, wanting to be nowhere more than right there, pushing pedals, sometimes wanting to be anywhere but where I came from. Sometimes if I push hard enough and give enough, I get there.”

He looked off in the distance, “Just keep going, and you’ll get get what you need or where you need to be, though things may never quite come out the way you want. The road’s always here to come back to. Only the road stays the same.” Phil gestured the last bite of his sandwich toward the backroad they travelled.

“I should head back.” Phil smiled through the beard and climbed aboard his recumbent. “One last word of advice though. It takes a lot to admit when you need to run away; you always end up leaving a part of yourself behind. Try running to something. Best case is when that something is your own heart.” He gave a little chest pounding salute and headed out of the parking lot.

Gary wasn’t sure what he just heard, but he skipped the next two waypoints, and by the third found himself nearly out of water. It was another gas station with cold water and friendly staff.

He pulled out a baggie of drink mix, bringing back thoughts of the checklist. Checking his phone, the clock showed four in the afternoon. Luce would be home soon.

The road rumbled by with new vigor. Gary’s heart pumped as he climbed the steepest hill of the route. His body took everything it could of his will, letting his mind fill with the thoughts he normally wouldn’t let himself think.

What was I running from? My Luce and I fight, but it’s never that bad. Here, things are good. So far… Only the road stays the same. That was what Phil said.

None of it made sense. He pumped the pedals through the burning building up in his thighs.

Stayin alive, stayin alive… He shook his head but came back with a smirk. His subconscious knew which hill they were climbing.

Over the crest, the valley spread out before him. He was a full hour behind his pace from Sunday night and the full moon was the only thing lighting the valley below, but the distance got shorter with every minute.

Try running to something.

Gary knew what was coming. The climb, the spot. His heart pumped with the same intensity, the same rhythm. His legs pushed him forward—legs and this newfound…whatever this was. Confusion? Self-realization? Every time his mind wandered, it came back to Luce.

The world shuddered. The bike wobbled under him. His legs couldn’t push much longer.

Sweat dripped down from his helmet and navigated the edge of Gary’s right eye, rolling into the lashes, stinging with every blink.

The wind didn’t push back. Nature didn’t conspire against his forward momentum, nor would it help Gary find whatever he searched for. Within a few long minutes he crested the hill and spotted the lights of the city ahead and below. Only houses and strip malls twinkled in the night.

“Damnit! What is it? What do you want of me?” Gary screamed his lamentations into the night at the jackrabbits and javelina, the roadrunners and coyotes, but no one had an answer.

In his jersey pocket at the base of his back his phone began to vibrate. He pulled to the side of the road and thought about whether to answer. There was only one person it would be.

“Hey Luce.”

“Gary, I’m a little worried here. I brought home your favorite Asian fusion and found this note. You ok?”

Gary inhaled the desert air. The wind picked up and sent a puff of dust over him, caking into the sweat lining his eye sockets and cheeks. The dirt rolled away in the next moment as tears followed. Words couldn’t…

He watched his hand pressing the red symbol, swiping away the need to say what he felt. Sweeping it away—for now anyway.

It was tiny, something dense and backward, but it wasn’t right. That wasn’t Luce. He had to go to something. He had to go to normal, his normal.

Gary gazed ahead at the road into the city, to his car, to this new Luce who brought home dinner and asked about his day, but at the first fork he turned the bike toward the mountains.

The hills welcomed him as Gary pushed his way up. The change in direction put the wind to his back and sent the two-wheeled beast ever higher.

His heart beat through his chest. His lungs ached. Another 100k went by. His phone didn’t ring again, likely no signal. Still, he pushed onward. The full moon still lit the way. His eyes adjusted.

Until they didn’t.

The road blurred. He felt his heart. His breath barely keeping up. His leg tried pushing the pedal and cramped.

Again, he found himself falling over, this time with a rock greeting his helmet with a solid thunk. He was already nauseous, and the hit sent him dry heaving to the dirt.

Gary rolled to his back, his eyes to the sky. Again, the clear night greeted him with a few blinking lights and the whole milky way backdrop. The stars rippled from one end of the sky to the other under a crescent sliver of moon.

“Thank you.”

“Hey Luce, I’m home!” Gary hobbled in through the door.

Coasting downhill, it turned out, made for an easy time getting back to his car. That, and a friendly lift.

“Gary! Oh God, Gary I called the search parties. Everyone’s out looking. They made me stay. Why the hell would you do that? You know I worry.”

Gary limped his way to the kitchen and leaned on the counter. The tray of cinnamon rolls had disappeared. Even their smell didn’t linger.

“Did you throw away the cinnamon rolls?” Gary turned to Luce. Both their faces tear streaked and weary.

A hand went to Luce’s lips. “You’re not ok, are you?” He rushed to Gary’s side, took his hand, lead him to a chair and knelt at his lap, looking up into Gary’s dusty blank stare.

Gary’s attention moved through the kitchen to the fridge. He got up and opened it to find leftovers.


He turned to Luce who still knelt at the foot of the chair. “What did you bring home for dinner?”

Luce’s gaze went askance, “Why would I bring home anything? And you still didn’t answer me. Why the hell did you do that? I swear if you don’t answer, I’m walking out the door. I don’t need this stress, Gary. Besides, we have Rosa’s, and that’s even better the next day.”

Gary nearly fell over into Luce’s arms.

When he awoke, he was clean, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and laying on his bed. Every inch hurt, except for his heart, lying beside him.

“Luce,” He wasn’t sure the words would come.

“Gary,” A few blinks and deep brown eyes greeted him.

“Tell me you’re allergic to cinnamon.”

“I’ve got some epinephrine in my bag that’ll tell you for me if we walk into one of those bun shops again, but not as allergic as I am to you riding off to god knows where. I’m putting that bike of yours up for auction.”

“No, you won’t, Luce.” Gary muttered, closed his eyes, and slept past noon.

Gary dreamt of rippling stars and woke wondering if he’d ride again—if he’d run again, and where to. He knew the way now.

The road’s always here to come back to. Only the road stays the same.

Leave a Reply