The hot Utah sun sucked a bead of sweat out from his burnt dried skin but the strong cross wind carried it off before it had a chance to roll down his spine. I followed close, within inches of his spinning tires that were propelled by his pumping quads and steady cadence. Caught in a daze of watching the pavement streak by and listening to the hum of a chain, miles passed. The hum occasionally interrupted when he dropped his right hand and with the slightest movement he changed gears, I changed gears. The ground rose slightly adding to the drag. My eyes rolled down to the odometer that read 18.2 mph, 58.4 miles. He stopped pedaling, I stopped pedaling, he reached for a water bottle, I reached for a water bottle, when his hand connected his legs began pumping once again. My shoulder blades and neck begged for a new position. I lifted my head, my eyes with it and saw the towering red rock formations, blue sky, and waving grass that covers southern Utah. He must have been feeling the same discomfort because he rose out of his saddle pressing, pulling, pressing, and pulling his bike rocking side to side like a pendulum. The music stagnate noise, wind, cars, gears. 17.2mph, 60.5 miles. He settled back into his saddle, looked over his shoulder and veered out into the lane and dropped back. His work was done for the time being. I looked over mine as well, half expecting to see open road, half expecting to see three others. They were their hiding in the tunnel of nonexistent wind. His absence left me with a new view; the cost hit my face and then my chest. My quads picked up the workload and I put my head back down.

Leaving Lake Powell during a late sunrise.