By Tony Rehagen
Coasting down the smooth pavement along Ben Fortson Parkway, you try to wave at the oncoming cyclists. But you decide to keep hold of both handlebars and steady your own wobbling bicycle as you turn to cross the road and enter the forest. Gravel crunches beneath the tires. A tunnel of leaves and branches closes behind you. The breeze sweeps the sweat from your brow as you pick up speed. A squirrel scampers alongside, as if to join the joyride. Suddenly adrift in a maritime wilderness, you are twelve again. You stop and reach for the map. Unseen beasts rustle in the brush; crickets harmonize with their rhythmic whir. You leave the map in your pocket and press on, lost in the heart of the island, pushing forward without fear.