Coasting down the mountainside where my house is perched, my toes skidding over the ice and slush, bike tires splashing through, crunching over, slipping under me, I’m at the mercy of the road, the weather, the brakes I installed myself, the $40 helmet I maybe shouldn’t have skimped on. This morning’s ride was for the first mile, exactly that, a ride. Getting out of my neighborhood required that I mount my bike and just hold on, try to stay upright until the bottom of the hill. When I got to the main road it was solid and wet, the thinnest river a sheath over the blacktop making it shine. I turned left and flew fast, then faster down the middle of the lane. The water blew off me. It felt like being born.