Time means nothing on an adventure - Greeting card

Time means nothing now. It slips away as easily as grains of sand on a wind-swept beach. But those grains only trade places. On my bike, I change the same way—new locations in the passage of time. The pedaling is incidental—like breathing. The hills and mountains come and go -- my legs powering over them in a kind of winsome trance. Grappling with headwinds only brings determination; while riding a tail wind brings ecstasy. There is a transformation into a state of bliss, much like a seagull gliding on the updrafts. I see them standing on beaches or soaring over the waves. Just flying. Just living. Just being. Me too.
Touring cyclists on their way to Death Valley, CA © 2012 Frosty Wooldridge

Denis and Bob after dropping out of the high Sierras. From snow banks to desert heat. They traveled east toward Panamint Valley and on to Death Valley at 282 feet below sea level with temperatures of 112 degrees F.