November 28, 2004

Dear Mr. Bush,

Today, sniffling back a held-at-bay cold and flexing my stiffening fingers to keep them warm, I rode my new bike around the neighborhood. And as the cold November wind made tears roll down my cheeks, I realized that, no matter how old you get, the first time you put your foot on the pedal of a new bicycle the same feeling rushes through your body that surged through it the very first time you ever rode a bike. Once those wheels start turning, you get that same uncontrollable urge to pedal faster and never stop--never look back, never turn around--that you had when you took that first wobbily ride down the sidewalk decades before. On a bicycle, Mr. Bush, freedom is always ahead of you, always around the next corner, and always under your feet.

To tiny freedoms,

Dan