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Part 2 - Epic is a strange word

The greenery is in full, seasonal bloom and cherry blossoms line the connector road. People are out in the early morning light; mowing lawns, prepping boats and walking their overly excitable dogs. The cloud cover has been heavy all morning but as we cross into Fitzwilliam, a welcome break in the clouds raises spirits. So does the road quality. I don’t know what it is with this crew but any time we hit dirt, or the pave goes awry, we all start attacking. I’m not surprised when Pierre goes off the front. He lets out some kind of war cry, a primeval yell, as his rear tire starts kicking up dust when the road goes from highway, all broken glass and sectioned pavement, to deserted asphalt. Sand and dust snake across the road in oblique patterns. Cattails, jutting, populate the shores of the glassy lake to our left and someone mentions the scene has a fairytale quality. Sam leans forward onto his hoods, grits his teeth and pulls Pierre back into focus.