Living in Walla Walla for four years can make a cyclist a little spoiled. Void of cars, dogs, squirrels and snow, it's endless roadways carve through the rolling Palouse hills. Golden brown in the fall, the air is earthy, dry and hot, with the occasional whiff of smoke as farmers burn off harvested fields; riding on the surface of the moon. In the spring, blue meets green as the endless harvest sprouts and extends out to the horizon to touch the sky; floating.
The valley's web of paved rollercoasters can take you to a place, but it is only on the gravel mazes that interconnect these roadways that one can become lost.
"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves" Henry David Thoreau