Evia to OZ

I'm concentrating with every muscle in my body to hold myself and my bicycle in forward moving line on a road which has betrayed me by switching from asphalt to gravel at a particularly steep moment in a particularly strong wind. Cars pass and honk giving us the all approving thumbs up. We can barely see as the wind whips our faces and bodies and bicycles with the most portable and sharp gravel it can pick up. I grumble as a car passes too fast and covers us with even more dust and gravel. I want to shoot him the finger, but I'm afraid to take even one finger off my bicycle. The next curve delivers a terrifying blow that sends an entirely powerless and startled me straight across the entire road to teeter on the edge of a cliff that plunges a few hundered meters down a bramble filled ravine and over many rocks to a most violent sea. I laugh with a combination of hysterical disbelief and disbelieving relief. Basil screams at me to get back to the other side. I fight slowly to push myself and my bike back to the other side of the road. As the wind picks up whipping us with more gravel, I brace myself against my bike and, with my face tucked deep into my shoulder, I have an epiphany: never cycle through a wind farm. Yes, kids: never cycle through a wind farm.