People kept talking about this damned hill. But people talk about lots of inconsequential stuff. The hill was consequential. Annoying as hell. You mean to say it gets even steeper right toward the top, and the traction worsens, too? By “gravel,” I assume you mean these huge hunks of rock, arranged just so, requiring the most perfectly executed line, zig-zag, upward, upward, a line…infeasible… Sideward, downward. Start again. On this gradient? Barely. Already tired. Stop. Puke? The Spanish biker going the other direction had said there was a beautiful woman to greet him at the top after he had pushed his bike up the other side. Any such for me? Keep pedaling. Turn the bend. Another bend ahead, upward, and… How is this shit still getting steeper? Is this what they mean by meaning? I’ll show you some meaning… Pedal. This is the last day, this the big hill, and the beautiful woman awaits me at the top. I’m gonna grind this bastard out. I take a break, almost immediately. … By and by, I crest! A beautiful woman is not, in fact, waiting there for me. Rather, she waits a few paces down the other side, out of sight from the top, as if to gauge whether I send it when no one is watching. I do, and I had! But now a flat tire is upon me, fallen prey to another hunk of rock, neatly arranged this time on the other side of the mountain. This time struck at much higher speeds. And so, dear reader, I have decided to start a new life up here in the bush. A simpler life. There is, unfortunately, no WiFi. Farewell.