“Riding With The Sun”

A Short Story

By Mike Ramsey

At the crack of dawn, I fling the covers off me, and jump off the bed. The clothes are laid out neatly for me, and I hurriedly try to put them on, putting two legs in one pant leg, and then trying to cram my head through one of the sleeves.

Slamming the door behind me, I hop on my shiny, new bike, and take off on my big adventure. I have no idea where I am going. I have no plan, no direction, no fear.

I wobble from side to side, bouncing from left, to right, to left, only the training wheels preventing me from falling over. None of that matters. I am riding, and I am going “that way”.

The sun is rising behind me, casting long shadows in front of me, making me appear much larger than my actual size. I marvel at how big I am in my shadow, and try with all my might to catch it. I want to catch up to that big me.

No longer bouncing off the training wheels, I take them off, and I go much, much faster. I can lean into the turns, a daredevil taking wide, sweeping turns at full speed, feeling the sensation of my effort against gravity.

Continuing on, with the sun higher in the sky, but still casting a now shorter shadow, the road climbs gradually higher, requiring a more firm push against the pedals, lungs calling for more air, but I go even faster, still. Compelled to ride harder, no longer riding without purpose, I sense that I am accomplishing something important.

The sun is directly overhead now, beating down on me, sweat pouring down my face and arms. The road is still at an upward incline, but I maintain my pace, determined not to slow, not to be beaten. I look forward and ride toward my goal in the West.

The road levels, and the load lightens, and the sun is in front of me, making me squint to see. My shadows are now lengthening behind me. The biggest part of me is back there now. I wonder what the shadows look like, but am unable to see without turning back. I must continue.

The sun is nearing the horizon, and the road narrows. Strengthened by the long ride, my legs seem to pedal without my mind commanding them. Their experience takes over, allowing me to wonder why I am still riding. I only know that I must continue to the end.

As the sun slowly slips down to the horizon, and the turquoise sky turns to blazing orange, the road becomes more narrow still, lifting upward, but seemingly no more difficult. The pedals seem to turn themselves as the darkness comes, but my legs keep up their constant turning, as if they know more about what is to come than I. There is a chill in the air, and I close my jacket.

Oranges fade to dark blue, and seeing the path is difficult, so I must slow. Darker and darker the sky becomes, making it difficult to stay on the increasingly bumpy and narrowing trail. My legs are tiring, slowing their pace, each stroke becoming less of a circular motion, than a leaning and mashing of alternate sides.

I stop pedaling, let the bike come to a stop, put down one foot, and shiver as an icy coldness ripples through me.

The darkness hides all but one thing. The path ends here. I can ride no more.