Journey to Nowhere This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

November 23, 2009
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Free, liberated, independent. This is how I feel when I am perched on the slightly-cushioned seat. I fly. I cut through the wind. I soar. I push harder. I am gone.

I am on my bike, pumping one pedal after another after another. I hear the chain winding, quietly yet continuously, sounding like a flock of geese in the distance. I feel the rubber of the handlebars, tight against my palms, as I grasp the grips firmly. The wind whips against my face, whistles in my ears, wraps its arms around me, enveloping me within.

It is summertime. The time of ice cream cones and poolside laughter. The time of sunny skies and white fluffy clouds. As I pedal down the pavement, the sun’s rays reach out and touch my face. My hair blows behind me, like a golden flag swaying in the breeze. My bike surges ahead. Its white glossy exterior, framed by light gray leatherwork on the handlebars and seat, shines bright and blinds me when I look down.

Free, liberated independent. I sound the bell on my handlebars, continuing on my journey to nowhere, with not a worry in the world.

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