Last week was bad. By Sunday I felt like I had the weight of the world on me. So I looked at the old gray mule who responded "don't look at me like that, I need BB maintenance, new wheels, and look at that cassette." But she bore me again across the hilly roads of my neighborhood out toward the far suburbs to the exoburbs, and a funny thing happened. As I rode my troubles seemed less troublesome. As the number of miles climbed so did my spirit. Soaking in the smells and sounds and tastes of the road for a short time there was nothing else just man, bike, and road. And that was good enough.