Sometimes I am riding through a deeply forested area in the evening. It is very shaded, in the evening the sun slants through in golden beams dappling the green and brown. As I get out of the saddle and race up this one hill I imagine at times that it is not me but Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans, and it is not a handle bar I hold but a Kentucky musket. Behind me Uncas and Chingachtook, in front of me I am racing to capture Alice and destroy Magui.