Fog Rolls Like a Cyclist

I took a short detour to have a look at the fog gathering up on the ocean below me.

If I had followed this road to its end, I would have found myself at Russia’s southernmost outpost in North America, from back in the 1800s.

When you’re over this hill, you don’t plan on coming back up from the other side. You might find yourself building up speed on the way down. The only way out is through.