Before we gained the north end, where we would turn to ride down to Sausalito , the fog had puffed its way in and completely enveloped us. I couldn't see the Marin County side at all. A few more turns of the wheels and suddenly the two of us were riding through a cloud. I could see maybe ten feet in front of me, and I could make out the roadway to my immediate right, but I couldn't begin to see the water below. We were riding in the void.

And at first I was terrified, Journey. I'm not really scared of heights, but here we were, two hundred feet up in the air and I can tell where the international orange of the railing beside me begins but not much else; but I knew I had to set a good example for Casey and not look like I was scared.

Of course, I turned half-round on my seat and Casey was back there, legs languidly riding atop the pedals, arms outstretched behind her in a V-shape, head pulled back and neck arched as she looked upwards to the upper limits of vision the fog allowed and as we passed by the north tower my sister was smiling in a place beyond bliss and shouted out: “Soar, Sis! Soar!”

And suddenly I pedaled faster and for a second it felt like life itself was pushing us along and in that moment I knew I'd always be OK in the void.

Hence—the bridge.

Goodnight, Journey.

Read April 27th entry.

Read May 2nd entry.