with every push of the pedal

            As my pain has increased and my energy has decreased, I haven’t ridden a bicycle.  It became too difficult—no longer any fun.  In Pittsburgh, it was one of my main modes of transportation, along with walking and city buses.  It was always an adventure going from one place to another, never knowing what might happen between the two points.

            I was taking the long way, riding on dirt roads trying to remember where and when to turn, road names and distances.  I wasn’t sure of my destination, but that didn’t worry me.  With every push of the pedal, I passed stands of trees, mailboxes next to gravel driveways, and fields of tall grasses swaying in the light breeze.  The air filled my nostrils, sweet with pollen from flowers and trees as they woke up from the long winter.  The sky was an expansive blue, dotted by light cottony clouds, sunrays gently reaching through fresh green leaves to dance alongside my bicycle on the brown earth.

  

            The road narrowed and I wondered if I had missed my turn.  That could have been it there, but that seemed too soon.  I kept pedaling, looking out for my turn.  Soon, the trees opened up to a large field with a house sitting in the middle, on a small hill.  Beautiful, I thought.  What a nice place to live, in peace and quiet.  The house, painted white, had two stories with a porch that wrapped around the first floor.  It looked like an old farmhouse, but there was no farm nearby.  It was in good condition but I couldn’t see any sign of life inside or out, other than the swallows diving across the field to catch their meal.

            I continued forward, even though at this point I was sure I had missed my turn.  Just passed the house, the land ended, replaced by beautiful calm water reflecting the sky.  This is not supposed to be here.  I am far from any lake or sea.  Confused, I slowed down as I kept riding on the little dirt road.  It curved with the edge of the water.  I was on a peninsula, consisting of nothing but the old farmhouse and the field on which it stood.  It was a stunning picture; the sunrays now playing in the grass, the breeze now carrying the salty sent of ocean.  But I had definitely missed my turn.

            I turned around, making a half circle in the grass, returned to the narrow dirt road, headed back the way I had come.  I hoped to find my turn.  I passed the house and the field, left the water behind me and entered a dense stand of trees.  I passed mailboxes next to gravel driveways and the ground beneath my wheels grew damp.  Where did that come from?  It hadn’t rained since I had been through here and there had been absolutely no water nearby.  Soon, the water in the road was an inch deep.  And then it was two. 

            The water was perfectly clear, not muddied by the dirt it covered, or by the wheels of my bike as I pedaled through.  I continued passed fields of tall grasses and into another stand of trees.  The ground sloped down to the left of the road. I hadn’t noticed that before. And I saw that it, too, was covered by clear water.  Where was this water coming from?  It seemed to be seeping up from below.  Why?  Puzzled by the secret sea and the mysterious water covering the ground, I kept pedaling forward, searching for my missed turn.