The chain clicks and hums as Joe and Nelly coast side by side, their ten-speeds gliding through the long, sunlit stretch of road. The air smells like ocean and cedar, and the wind carries just enough resistance to make it feel earned.
Joe leans forward on his handlebars, grinning. “You know,” he says, glancing over, “everything is for you. Every mile, every push uphill—this whole ride.”
Nelly laughs, shaking her head, but she doesn’t look away. “You better keep that energy when we hit the next hill.”
Up ahead, standing near the edge of a park trail, a familiar figure raises his arms enthusiastically. It’s David Suzuki, dressed casually, beaming like he’s witnessing something far bigger than just two cyclists passing by.
“Beautiful!” Suzuki calls out. “This is exactly it—human power, harmony with the planet! Keep going!”
Joe sits up a bit taller at that, almost like he’s been knighted mid-ride. “You hear that?” he says. “We’ve got official approval now.”
Nelly smirks. “From the man himself. No pressure.”
They pedal harder, the rhythm syncing between them. Tires spin, gears shift, sunlight flickers through trees overhead. For a moment, it feels like the whole world is just this: motion, breath, and the quiet certainty of being exactly where they’re supposed to be.
Behind them, Suzuki claps once more and shouts, “That’s the future right there!”
