I like cruising into work in the pre-dawn, cool wind and lightening sky, empty roads. Crossing the bridge, admire the river and hills waking up, get to work awake myself, pumped up for a dynamic day staring at computer monitors. I especially like it on dark and stormy winter mornings, me defiant, impervious in my rain armor, beating through sideways rain on streaming roads, a hero in my own mind. Go tell the Spartans, indeed. Other times I unleash my madly powerful sprint up the bridge approach, crushing the pedals at 45 mph - everything is doubled in my little fantasy, because it is my fantasy - at 180 bpm - um, not doubled. In the afternoons I enjoy joining the stream of bike commuters, feeling kindly to the two wheeled masses, then insolently I ride them and their bike trailers off my wheel as I accelerate up the 2 percent grade to the roar of imaginary crowds. After dancing with death on our major arterial roads, I stride confidently into the bike pub. Ho! Barkeep! I command a restorative draught.