The road was jammed with traffic, so he peeled off the main highway and hit the dirt roads that snaked through the valley between the Interstates. It felt good: the fresh air instead of the exhaust fumes, the delicately clouded sky, the richly verdant grass. For the first time in hours, he was genuinely happy to have taken this ride. The dirt road danced before him, dipping, curving, rising onto a wooden bridge that straddled a dry creekbed, then falling on the other side. Off to one side, he noticed a small herd of goats, left unattended. Now the trail took him into the woods, a thick forest of old trees, some still bearing the ashen scars of long-past fires, all rising and entwining over him, a slightly mad if loving embrace. Turning his sight back to the road, he slammed on the brakes, only barely missing... ... a squirrel, which looked up at him in mild wonderment before scampering off into the trees. Taking the cue, he shut down the bike and sat, watching the birds as they flew overhead, like a great black river that at once filled the sky, then once again was now a creek, then a mere trickle as the slaggers flapped wildly to catch up. There was no sound, not even a wind pushing the limbs. Then softly, suddenly... — a crackle in the brush -- he looked to see a mama bear and her two cubs, sitting patiently, watching him. They made no move. Knowing better, neither did he, until he felt it safe to slowly put his hands on the handlebars and gently, slowly push the bike along the dirt road. The bears watched him, then started to follow -- not in attack, he felt, but rather in disinterest. A few yards on, the bears were joined by an elk. Then a wolf. None seemed threatening…. only cautiously watchful. Now birds could be seen walking with the troupe: wild turkeys, pheasants, ducks. None were flying: rather, they lumbered along, keeping apace with the animals, all carefully watching him as he continued through the woods. He stopped. So did they, some now sitting on the ground, all almost a barricade to prevent him from going back. Curious, he started to walk once more. So did they: matching his pace. Never quickening, never slowing, they maintained their distance from him. He could feel a single bead of sweat on his brow -- do animals sense that? he asked himself. Only a score of yards away, he could see the Interstate, and for an inexplicable moment, seeing it filled him with joy. That was where he belonged, he realized they were telling him, there with the cars and the trucks and the asphalt. Not here. There. He paced his way to the edge of the onramp, then came to a full stop. The animals stopped as well, standing just on the edge of the woods, their eyes clearly trained on him. Go. Do not return. They sat in a gently arching line, watching as he suddenly gunned the motor and took off up the ramp way...