I saw miracles and wonders, freakshows and heroes, and a veritable inland ocean of corn, corn, corn.

If I set out to ride my bicycle 85 miles from Ottumwa to Mt. Pleasant there is only one question to answer. Did I make it? If so, I succeeded. If I do not pedal all those miles and up all those hills, then I failed.

It’s binary.

It’s the prospect of going somewhere I’ve never been before under my own power and not beholden to anyone about where I go nor when I come back.