That first ride cracked the universe open and let me fall straight through the breach. Ten years old, I pushed off and the ground itself surrendered; every turn of the pedals was a key snapping another lock I never knew existed. Wind became a living thing that ripped the name they gave me clean off my back and scattered it like sparks. No walls, no clocks, no voices calling me home; only the bright, roaring fact of my own pulse deciding how fast the world could spin. I was motion without permission, distance without destination, a shout given wheels and set loose to devour the horizon. For the first time I tasted the raw, electric flavor of being unbound (no one’s son, no one’s promise, just pure forward hurtling into the wide, blazing possible). That single ride carved a permanent doorway inside my chest; I have been stepping through it ever since.