The Bike Tourist

The passing cars disappear around the bend and I am again alone in the middle of a remote desert landscape. In their wake, dust lingers in the air momentarily before settling. Silence again prevails upon the warm afternoon as I pedal mile after mile far from anywhere. Ahead, the narrow road stretches toward the horizon and beyond. It is difficult to see into the distance because of glare from a bright afternoon sun. Alas, I may not encounter another person for hours. With only myself for company, I think of my wife and try to imagine what she might be doing back home. It has been awhile since I began so I think of her often during the long days of riding. Sometimes, there are feelings of guilt for leaving her behind. But always, the open road has beckoned. It’s an obsession to which we concede. Before every fork in the road and around every bend, I am compelled by curiosity and the anticipation of what lies ahead. And at every road’s end is yet another road. With miles and miles to go, I can only find solace in the irony that the farther I ride from her; the sooner I will see her upon my journey’s end.