I travel by bike to a far away place, somewhere deep in VT or NY, northern New England, for a reunion. It is taking place at a particular house that is fairly remote, in the woods. I am expecting most of the people there to be people I don't know, maybe one or two familiar faces, but the rest people from other years or other projects than the one I participated in. I arrive earlier than most, and walk up the driveway, by habit walking on top of a wall (made of rock and what looks like skulls). I jump around a tree, and come to the door. I knock. One person is inside, I greet her, and we chat a bit. Food is prepared, and we wait for others to arrive.

Some time later, after the reunion, I depart, heading home. Perhaps foolishly, I plan to bike the whole way home in one day. It is a sunny day, and I pass through town and city with ease, as though the road were perpetually slightly down hill. There is always water on my left side -- I'm not sure if it is coast or just a large river, though I am traveling east. I come to a major town (one of two I pass through in this day-or-two long journey). But here, I become confused about the route -- it seems the road I am on is becoming a freeway, and there is little or nothing I can do about it. I am being forced onto a major interstate. It looks like there is a sidewalk, and it looks like we are headed for a bridge.