One evening after work, a boy got on his bike and didn't stop riding. It soon got dark, and there were huge flashes of lightening and claps of thunder, but the boy didn't stop riding. Then the rain came, first in gentle soothing drops, then in torrents, each drop making impact with the speed of a piearcing arrow, but the boy wouldn't stop riding. Cities faded away in his rear view, he was out on the highway, all alone, in the middle of nowhere with no one to help in case of crisis, amidst the darkness, thunder, lightening and the cold cold rain, but the boy wouldn't stop riding. Then came the wind, fierce and cold, strong enough to uproot bushes and send them tumbling across the highway in front of him, strong enough to push the bike a foot or two in any direction it pleased, but the boy refused to give up riding. Hours slipped by with miles, and in this war between biker and nature, although it seemed like nature had the upper hand and was throwing the kitchen sink at him, the boy was enduring, and slowly and steadily making progress.
Then morning broke, and the first rays of sunlight colored the sky. The darkness, rain and wind, as if afraid of the sun's disapproval of their trials on the boy during the night, vanished along with it. The boy had reached where he wanted to go, had covered 850 odd kilometers, was soaked and cold. But, he took a moment to stop and enjoy the beauty of the sun firing up the sky for a new and beautiful day.
I wont philosophize about this story. It may signify many things to many people. So I'll let You dear reader, draw from it the parallels you would like to draw, if any at all.
But i will tell you one thing,
the boy didn't stop riding...
