A Tail of Two Centuries

Long long ago in a far away land a tale was told of a mighty wind. Kings and queens as well as beggars and thieves spent years toiling and searching for the mighty wind. The ancient Greeks looked to Aeolus to release the mighty winds. Zeus himself even pleaded with Aeolus, but to no avail. Time went on as it so often does, and tales of this mighty wind were long forgotten. The society of man became focused on this idea of progress. The focus was so far off in the distance that once the bicycle came about man had the audacity to keep on pushing for progress. Progressing into a climate controlled existence the memory of the wind faded away like a dying breeze. 

Fate would have it that this wind, bestowed upon a group of riders, would be the gust of legend. Humbled and battered the day before by a halting force the weary travelers arose wary the next morning to find peaceful overcast morning with the faintest hint of a breeze. The miles started ticking away, the women departed to visit the land of one of their families, and west rode the men. After some time the men arrived in a small village where they sought a fine meal. Leaving the village they were filled with vigor, the meal left them feeling hearty and strong. They set off for the next village ready to prepare camp after a long day of travels. The queerest thing happened in the time between locales. The men found they were being aided by a swift gust, hopes were high that the day would end earlier than planned and thoughts turned to a restful evening.

The next village had something entirely different in store for the intrepid travelers. One mans face wrinkled as he pensively examined the wind. He remembered a tattered piece of parchment in the far corner of a long lost museum that told of a  gale that would one day grace the land. Shivers trembled down his spine as the hair on the back of his neck stretched skyward as if to sample the wind for itself. He reminded himself his excitement was getting the best of him, but then he thought he glimpsed the corner of a tattered black flag that looked as if the seas and wind were well know.  He knew at that moment what had to be done. Summoning his words he stumbled through a speech one would utter to medieval warriors ready to charge into battle. Befuddled by some of the words another member of the group made it plain to the men what was at stake by unveiling the Jolly Roger. The great flag was hoisted and flew proud as the men set sail for the longest ride thy had ever attempted. 

The group realized this was the one wind. One wind to push them all and in the darkness guide them. Sailing west over the sea o the Midwest the men embarked on a journey they scarcely deemed a possibility. They followed the sun as it laid its head for the evening and were accompanied by a moon only the great wind could bring about. The stars loomed overhead and on they sailed. Not a soul to be seen they enjoyed their finest of days, feeling what a joy it was to be so alive in a moment of such monumental beauty. Over the course of over thirteen hours and over two hundred miles the men finally rested and enjoyed a deep slumber. It was a deep restful sleep filled with dreams of times of old and how so many had yearned for the great wind. What a great wind it was.