Floating over the hill. Maybe not floating. Floating does not involve grinding or heaving. Flowing then. Like a river flows and bounces and drops over rocks. Heat radiates off the tarmac. Raptors surf thermals, mammals scurry for cover. I’m lost but know exactly where I am. Pen-Y-Fan is clear in the distance. The freewheel ticks, drifting along the ridge. I have the panorama of my antecedents. Some moments last forever.