Pedaling

It seems like I've been pedaling for hours, because I've been pedaling for hours. I'd like to stop now, please. But here isn't where I'm going, and where I'm going is still a ways away. I can hear the hum of my tires on the road, the ticking of my chain, the cars passing me as I pass each building. Slowly, everything begins to fade as my mind wanders and soon, my mind is lost. Lost from the fight I had with my wife this morning, lost from the dream of a plate of Thanksgiving leftovers, lost from the hum, the tick and the passing everything. My surroundings no longer exist, except to surround me. I unconsciously begin to veer, back and forth and back again. Harder, and sharper I carve, yet smoothly and graceful, the sound of the tires peaking with each pass as they strain to hold their ground between the pavement and my force. Out of the corner of my eye, a manhole cover. I bunnyhop and land on the other side. The imaginary crowd in my head goes wild with cheers, as I've just won the gold medal in Smooth Carving To Manhole Bunnyhop. The hum and the tick are back. The fight is back and the plate of food too. My surroundings are again passing cars as I pass buildings. I keep pedaling.