Another rush of the relentless wind on a crisp Autumn day.  The leaves are turning, creating a riot of colors alongside the gravel trail I now ride. Climbing, gradually, but surely.  Sweat on the brow, breathing accentuated but even.

Why do we ride?  The question and its answer arise simultaneously, unspoken, unbidden, and are complete in themselves; and yet, in another sense, the answer is always “somewhere out there”, calling you forward.

A leaf, one of dozens set sail on the wind, flutters down and catches briefly in my helmet before flying free somewhere behind me. Up ahead the trail, shaped by windblown trees and branches, winds around yet another curve, with a glint of sunlight hinting of an opening from the treeline.  I feel alive, content, connected.

This is why we ride.