Sometimes I look for a happy place, and I find only a memory. Is it the place, or the memory that stimulates me? I can search and find nothing, or I can not search and have it thrust upon me where I sit.

I find that the "place" I am looking for is an inward place, not just a physical one. I can be in that "place" wherever I am.

Cycling often brings me there, wherever I may go.