Late into the morning, mist still crawling across the valley,
I make the steep climb, all nose and lungs, sweat running
under hat and down back, feet conforming to the shapes
of stones and stirring up dust.

Walking the ridge trail, I reach the spot where I ask myself,
"Did I miss the way down? It seems like I've been walking
a very long time."

Here an old man may ask himself: "Did I miss my death?
It seems like I've been living a very long time."

Suddenly, like a Valkyrie, a mountain bike flies around a
bend with its rider yelling, "One more!" and the next one
yells, "No more!"