Cruising through a tunnel of trees in the deep dark, you think back to what brought you here, and wonder where this road is taking you. Some place grand, you used to say. Some place solemn and glorious. That some place has been shrinking farther into the background, becoming the punch-line of jokes that you can’t quite laugh at. Just the slightest turn of the wheel, or the faintest twitch of the pedals, and you’ll end up one of the tombstones. People will walk on the paths around you, and compliment you on your silence, envy your peace. They will lay in the grass and in the shade of the trees, singing songs they once heard, resting in a quiet valley full of bodies that can no longer breathe; strange children like yourself, holding hands, falling in love in a graveyard.