The Rider

The air is dry. The sun bares down relentlessly on all underneath its vast umbrella. The asphalt seemingly glows under the intensity of summers wrath.

The rider n a quiet highway has no quick escape. To continue forward or to retreat both will require the same amount of time, the same amount of suffering in the heat. He chooses to press forward.

Caught in a monotnous cadence of pedaling, struggling to hear the music from his Ipod. One speaker has already broken, creating a steady beat in one ear, and an eerie silence in the other.

A car hasn't passed for as long as he can remember, adding to the solitude. Peering at the landscape around, as sweat continually streams past his eyes, he sees cactus, dry brush, and other plants which find home in this dry high desert enviroment.

Up the road there are two blackbirds on the ground. As the rider approaches, they swiftly ascend to safety above. The rider looks down and eyes the roadkill the birds are keen on finishing, once passed the birds return with a delighted squawk.

There must be shade around, the rider thinks to himself. But none can be found as the rider trudges even farther uphill, up the road towards more pain, more suffering.

Still no cars have passed. Usually there are a few on this highway, though never many. Maybe it is too hot for even cars to be here today.

Up ahead he sees a small turnout off the highway. There is a small tree blocking the suns rays, barely big enough to be sufficient. Quickly the rider pedals to the shade, dismounting his bike, then crouches in this miniscule area of shade.

Grabbing his water bottle of his bicycle, he drinks the last two sips of warm water. Looking around he sees no running water. There will not be anymore for miles, miles of uphill, miles of sun.

Gritting his teeth, the rider begins to remount his bike, the sooner he leaves, the sooner he will escape the dry mouth which is plaguing him now.

There is a sound from down the highway. A car. As it approaches the rider hears a faint sound of European techno music bouncing off the mountains walls. Peering down the highway, the rider eyes a strange shaped car rapidly approaching, tires squeeling as the rubber clings to the asphalt on each turn.

The windows are down, yet the rider cannot make out the occupants, just black hair flailing in the wind, seeming to dance with the beat of the music.

Suddenly the car is by the rider. It turns sharply into the turnout, without slowing down, somehow maintaining its balance with the road.

With an abrupt stop, the car creates a cloud of dust, blocking the view of the car from the rider. As the cloud slowly clears, a blue and silver car sits in front of the rider. A strange barrel of sorts is attached to where the rear seat would normally be, but on this car, the rear has been removed.

Both doors swing open and out step two young ladies, both dressed in closely fitting white tank tops and black jeans. Each with black hair blowing in a breeze which the rider cannot feel.

They approach and speak.

"Want a Red Bull?"

The rider suddenly realizes the strange car is nothing other than the red bull mini cooper.

"Yeah, I'd actually love one right now."

A brief conversation, a picture taken of the passenger handing the rider the red bull, then the car is gone.

Stunned by what has just happened the rider pinches himself, but he isn't dreaming. There is still a cold red bull in his hand. He drinks it.

Suddenly, like he has grown wings, the rider mounts his stallion and finishes his ride with his new found energy.

Fact or fiction? I'll let you decide.