The chance to ride the Möbius was an incredible opportunity—one I had never dreamed of being offered. As I mentioned, I had recently spent considerable time researching transportation and communication, including an in-depth examination of Ms. Jackson’s innovative locomotive and train system and its impact on material exchange between urban centers and rural communities in the WILD region. I had read everything available about the Möbius, pictured its gigantic engine and monstrous proportions, and even dreamed once of its frightful roar as it shot by in the darkness, but I never imagined I would see it in real life.

For the benefit of current readers who may have forgotten the origins of the term "WILD," let me provide a brief reminder. As the population declined and automation increasingly replaced manual labor in agriculture and industry, urban migration surged, reminiscent of the large movements seen throughout the twentieth century. Many migrants relocated to the new coastal cities, particularly in the South. This mass exodus, combined with decades of poor land management, left vast swaths of the Midwest deserted, the soil overused and infertile.

Efforts were eventually made to recover these lands, and one of the first groups to undertake this work called themselves the W.I.L.D.—the Western Independent Land Developers. They were among many organizations striving to rehabilitate land and communities in the Midwest. However, while many came and went, this group's name became a pseudonym for the land itself. Even today, long after the area's rehabilitation, it remains known as the WILD.

Thus, when offered the chance to ride on this singular and tremendous train through the vast WILD, I responded with what must have been barely concealed excitement, “I would love to!” Ms. Jackson's eyes glistened with appreciation at my response, and she and Ezra continued discussing further details, though my mind drifted, captivated by the adventure that awaited.

It wasn’t until I noticed Ms. Jackson rising from her seat that my thoughts returned to the room. We had been invited to dine with her, and I saw that Ezra had accepted, though he added, “But I’m afraid I must eat quickly and then hurry to make some preparations.” I wondered what those preparations could entail, but Ms. Jackson responded as if it were perfectly natural, saying, “Of course, of course.”

I looked at Ezra, puzzled, and he reassured me, “Just some necessities. You can stay here with Ms. Jackson if she allows you and keep her company until I return.”

“Absolutely,” Ms. Jackson affirmed, a warm smile gracing her lips.

I found myself being led into the dining room. The meal that followed was delightful, filled with anecdotes and stories from Ms. Jackson’s remarkable life. Ezra, having eaten rapidly and departed, left me alone to enjoy these tales. It soon became clear that Ms. Jackson would have been more than capable of handling the situation with Sophie herself, were it not for the still unconquered limitations of age. Yet, she had much to share and teach on this topic as well.

However, I won’t extend this already lengthy story by recounting all her words. I will only say that her memoir, A Fire from the Ashes, is a true literary treasure—not just because I played a part in its compilation, but because it stands as a testament to her iron will and indomitable spirit.

But, like the Möbius, this story must go on. After our dinner and discussion, and with Ezra's return, we bid farewell to Ms. Jackson and her splendid home, and headed south toward the Phoenix Steel Mill. We were riding in one of our host's luxury cars, and from my comfortable seat, I looked out at the darkened evening. It was sometime after ten o’clock, and though I felt the weight of sleep in the plush seat, I doubted I would be resting anytime soon. I mentally braced myself for another all-nighter, reminiscent of our search for Dr. Marsden.

We soon crossed the Allegheny River on the old Highland Park Bridge, entering well-lit areas where people strolled along the sidewalks and dined in bustling restaurants. As we progressed through East Liberty and Shadyside, the vibrancy began to fade. The further south we traveled, the more desolate the surroundings became, until we passed entire blocks that lay completely deserted. The streetlights here were unlit, leaving only the headlights of our car to illuminate the vacant apartments, abandoned offices, and empty eateries.

This eerie emptiness deepened as we approached the Monongahela River, enveloping me in a somber gloom. I vividly recalled a playground where laughter once rang out, now overtaken by darkness and choked with weeds and ivy. Crossing the river, we entered the old industrial districts. Here, abandoned factories haunted the skyline; the obscure, unsettling shapes of their furnaces and silos, cooling towers and crane gantries, loomed like eerie leviathans in the night, looking down upon a world that had forgotten them. It was as if time had stopped within their rusted steel fences while the outside world raced on, indifferent to their past contributions. I imagined the sound of flapping sheet metal and the jangling of chains as the wind alone visited these neglected relics, whispering mournfully of forgotten times.

It struck me as curious that Ms. Jackson had persisted in this area, yet I supposed she could not simply up and move. Just then, a growing light ahead caught my attention, and I felt a surge of hope. Perhaps it was the Phoenix complex itself, for I longed to see signs of life once more, to escape the lonesome shadows of crumbling greatness.

It was indeed Ms. Jackson’s facility, and soon we were stopped at a gate, the great emblem of the Phoenix prominent and well-lit upon it. The guard, forewarned of our arrival, checked our identification quickly before waving us forward. Ezra directed the car to proceed to the launch while I took in Ms. Jackson’s achievement.

Despite the late hour, the massive complex showed signs of activity, with lights and moving equipment visible in several areas far off to the right. Straight ahead was what I assumed to be an administrative building, but we turned left toward the train yard and launch, my attention drifting with the wheels. Looking in that direction, I saw my first glimpse of one of the train cars, and even at that distance, the size was staggering.

Soon, our vehicle came to a stop, and Ezra and I stepped out into the warm night. At once, we could hear—and even feel—the humming vibrations of the cooling towers for the reactor. Far off, a brilliant golden-red light shone from within a massive building, illuminating the train tracks that led toward us. The power of the light from that molten steel was so radiant, it was like looking at the sun. I thought of some mythic forge, like that of Hephaestus beneath Mount Olympus, where powers unknown to man were wielded in crafting wondrous creations. Steam jetted from one of the distant stacks, the fusion towers thrummed, and cranes lifted enormous containers; yet, there was an uncanniness about it. So huge, so powerful, yet so lifeless. Not a single person in sight.

I turned to see Ezra’s reaction, but he was setting off toward the launch, our backpacks in hand. He had dismissed the car, and it was already winding its way along the curving road back to its owner. I jogged to catch up with him, my eyes fixed on the marvel before me.

The train tracks came from several directions and met a couple of hundred yards away. I had only seen photos and read about the dimensions, but the reality was stunning. Queued on the launch were several flatcars—some with intermodal shipping containers stacked on their decks and others with finished goods: massive steel coils and beams, and one car carrying a burdensome load of great arching steel frameworks or trusses, their girth too great even for the huge car, extending off either side.

With every step I took, the site grew larger until, standing beside the monstrous Phoenix cargo car, I had to crane my head back to see the full image of the great mythical bird emblazoned upon it. The symbol of Ms. Jackson’s company had its outstretched wings encompassing the full length of the hundred-foot car, and its fiery head looked down at me from nearly forty feet in the air. I gawked at the massively loaded cars, questioning the veracity of the claim that they would soon be racing out to meet the Möbius at over a hundred miles an hour.

Accompanying my dismay at the size of these cars was the eeriness of the stillness surrounding them. We were to be leaving shortly—within fifteen or twenty minutes, I guessed—yet there was nothing happening. No commotion, no engines roaring in preparation, just stillness and the low vibration of the distant factory. Yet, I knew of the pent-up power of the launch, the almost unimaginable mechanical energy in reserve, waiting to send these huge loads hurrying into the night like a child racing a toy car across the floor. The massive weight, spooled up and ready to drop, was somewhere nearby—in a tower in the darkness beyond, perhaps, or under my very feet.

A few high-mast floodlights lit the cars with harsh, direct light, creating sharp shadows as I walked along them, each as large as a house and probably weighing far more. There were six cars on the launch. How much weight was that, I wondered? How much could be built with the materials within just these six cars?

Looking to the track itself, I recalled my research on the Möbius and the great excitement that had arisen when Ms. Jackson revealed her plan to establish a train that ran on broad gauge rails. In the mid-nineteenth century, innumerable arguments, debates, and strikes punctuated the long road to rail gauge standardization in both the United States and much of Western Europe. In the U.S., this agreement for standardization came about at the end of May 1886, with thousands of workers pulling spikes on countless miles of track and resetting the rails—sometimes just inches from their original position—to meet the new standard of four feet nine inches. Over time, this was gradually shifted to four feet eight and a half inches, which continued to be the standard for nearly two hundred years until the Möbius broke the mold with its new and astounding six-and-a-half-foot broad gauge rails.

Suddenly, I heard a voice, and turning back to Ezra, I saw a man had come up and was speaking to him. “Howdy, boys! I’m Gary,” he said, shaking Ezra’s hand. He had one of those large voices that carry well, along with a very friendly face and manner. As I stepped back to them, I noticed he was holding a large duffle bag.

We introduced ourselves, and he said with a big smile, “So, you guys are going to ride the launch, huh? Ha, can’t say I haven’t wondered what it would be like, but I’m not sure I’d actually do it. Somebody used to ride her in the beginning, just to make sure everything went all right, but that’s been a few years.” As he spoke, he ran his large black hand over the massive wheel as though it were a prized horse about to race. He seemed to always be either laughing or just about to.

Ezra, noticing the man’s appreciation of the machine, said, “Well, if I make it back here, I’ll let you know how she ran.” Gary laughed heartily, his white teeth prominent in the darkness. “Please do, sir, please do,” he replied, then walked to the end of the cargo car and began climbing the ladder, saying as he did, “Well, come on up here, boys. She’s leaving in just a few minutes, and you want to be situated.” He still carried the bag with him.

We followed him up the mounted vertical ladder onto the slim catwalk at the front of the car. “This is going to be the best place for you during the launch,” Gary explained, indicating the narrow walkway. “You can put your back to the wall here and hold onto this rail, but Ms. Jackson also insisted you had harnesses.” As he spoke, he produced two safety harnesses from the bag, helped us don them, and demonstrated how the two attached carabiners could be used so that at least one was always secured to the train.

“Now, you may be thinking this is just fine for take-off,” Gary said, smiling again, “but what if you want to move about the cars? I’ve been given the impression you just might be doin’ that.” For that, he pressed a green button set into the end post of the rail. Immediately, with the sound of a whirring electric motor somewhere beneath us, a catwalk began unfolding from the underbody and swinging into place. “Every car has a catwalk,” Gary explained, “but they are usually retracted. They’d get ripped right off if they were out during loading and unloading.”

“There was a lot of thought put into this for people to never use it,” I said. He laughed, “That’s the way it goes. Look up there,” he pointed to the top of a cooling stack looming above the factory, “see the rail all the way at the top? Ain’t nobody ever gone up there, but there’s that rail all the same, as if it were a sightseeing perch. But they used to think somebody would be on every train. There are facilities too, in each engine, ya know—bathroom and all that. I suppose it’s all working still. You let me know on that point too.” And he laughed again.

A sudden siren made me jump, and he chuckled at my alarm before saying, “It’s almost time. It’s going to be windy out there. Ms. Jackson said you had a plan for that?” I wasn’t aware of any plan and hadn’t even considered the wind, but Ezra was pulling two sleek motorcycle helmets from the backpacks and saying, “They also have built-in two-way radios so we can communicate.”

Gary gave him an approving smile and said, “Good idea, Ezra. Very clever. Well, I guess you’re all set then. Here’s the other harness if you want to add it to your backpack, since I guess you’re expecting to meet a friend on your trip.” Ezra took the harness and added it to my backpack, where I saw another helmet as well. “You are the planner, aren’t you?” Gary chuckled.

The siren blared again, making me jump. Smiling at me, Gary said, “Alright, boys. I better get off here before I find myself an unexpected guest on the Möbius as well.” He began descending the ladder. As he did, Ezra walked to the edge and, looking down at the man, said firmly, “I understand Ms. Jackson called on you to help us, in good faith that you were an honest and discreet man.” I could see Gary’s face looking up at Ezra, his smile persistent, and he replied, “Ms. Jackson’s the finest woman in the world, sir. I’m for her, even if she decides to shut the whole thing down. I’ll know it’s because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Good,” Ezra said. “I’m counting on you to be my inside man then. If something’s happening out there, it means someone inside the Phoenix Corporation is acting against Ms. Jackson. You keep an eye out, and I’ll be in touch.” Gary nodded his assent.

The siren blared every few seconds now. Taking one of the helmets, I slipped it over my head and immediately heard the adaptive sound dampening engage, diminishing the intense intermittent peals. I looked at Ezra and then to Gary, who stood back about ten feet, grinning at us. “You alright, boys?” he yelled. I yelled back that I was a little nervous. He smiled and said, “You just plant your feet and hold on tight now. It’s going to be a ride you won’t never forget.” I remember clenching the rail, seeing his smiling face, and then he winked, and then we were off.

Everything became a blur, and I felt nearly lifted off my feet as I gripped the bar. My breath seemed pushed from my lungs for several long seconds as we flew along the track, the wind rushing past. We crossed the river in what felt like moments, then raced through the city—the lit and unlit sections flickering before my eyes like a pulsing bulb. Soon, we were beyond the city, zooming past isolated homes, distant pinpricks of light in the whirring black nightscape.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness when we suddenly burst into the open—a vast expanse of land stretching on either side. The smooth, straight iron tracks soared over valleys and rivers, flying into the night. I guessed the initial impetus from the mechanical launch must have been depleted, and we were now propelled by electromagnetic forces alone, like a projectile on a railgun.

Then I caught my first glimpse of the Möbius in the distance, its great hulking engine pulling hundreds of massive cars. I gawked in awe, mumbling, but a copse of trees temporarily hid it from view. Fear began to creep in. What if something was wrong? What if we were late? What if we were early? Each time the Möbius flashed into view, it seemed too far ahead or too far behind. I dreaded what might happen, what seemed so likely to happen.

We sped through more trees and back into the open. The train of cars was parting. The Möbius was making way for us. It was all happening so fast my mind could hardly process it—the sheer bulk of the cars and the speed at which they cruised. The gap! Was it big enough? It didn’t seem sufficient. I braced for impact, clenching tighter on the rail, waiting for the crash. But it never came. I felt nothing at all; looking forward and back, I saw we had joined the great beast without so much as a jolt. We were part of the Möbius now.

I looked to Ezra next to me, and he smiled calmly. Turning back to where we had come from, I saw a small string of cars departing from the Möbius. They took the spur before our exit and zoomed away on the launch we had just left—heading to Pittsburgh and the waiting Gary. That batch of cars was already charging up the launch for the next departure in a few days, almost like a great spring being recompressed. But it wasn’t a spring. It was a weight. I pictured it in my mind, a mass in the darkness underground being slowly lifted like some chthonic creature of myth, the echoing grumbling of the gears resembling the groaning of the monster.

“Are you ready, John?” I heard Ezra say in my helmet, snapping me from my dark thoughts. I looked at my fellow traveler, who was switching his clips from one rail to another as he set out into the rushing wind onto the catwalk. I wondered where he was going. Ms. Jackson had mentioned that there were six launches from Pittsburgh. One of them might be carrying this Miss Ellis. But which one? “Should we split up?” I asked Ezra, who was already halfway up the next car. “We already have, John,” he said dryly. “But I think we should both work our way forward toward the engine.” I hesitated, uncertain and nervous about attempting the catwalk in the blasting wind.

Ezra left the car ahead and transitioned to the one beyond it. “Can you still hear me?” I asked, fearful of losing communication. “Yes,” he confirmed phlegmatically.

I felt my nervousness grow with every passing second, the darkness and rushing wind freezing me in a state of paralysis. I looked down at the ground, trying to comprehend the surface. It was all so different from the pleasant train ride I had taken earlier that day. Lifting my gaze, I saw we were passing through a forest of black trees, and beyond, peeking over the grey horizon, was an orange moon.

I took a deep breath and determined I could do it. I could move. I looked to the car ahead of me. It was not far—a gap of about a foot—but as I hunched down and leaned into the wind, the transfer felt daunting. I wondered how Ezra had managed this so calmly. I looked for him, but he was out of sight, lost in the uncertain night.

Another deep breath, and while still gripping the rail with one hand, I unclipped one of my carabiners and began stretching it toward the next car. I was nearly there when two things happened quite at the same time. First, the earth dropped away beneath me; even in the dim light, I sensed the void over which we were suddenly careening. Second, the car before me, which I was reaching for, drifted away. I screamed—truly screamed—convinced the Möbius was falling apart, sending us over a high cliff. Panic surged within me as the moments raced by, and I gulped for air when I heard a dismissive voice in my helmet: “Calm down, John, it’s only a bridge.”

My mind snapped into clarity, almost as if we had struck the bottom of a great gorge. We were simply crossing a large river or valley, and now it was over—we were on solid ground again. The cars were separating in preparation for an incoming launch. As I steadied my racing heart, I looked out, wondering if I could see it.

Indeed, there it was—a great black mass. The panic I had experienced before returned as I watched the massively loaded cars of this new launch hurtling toward us. I wondered anew: was it going to make it in time? It’s too close. It’s too far away. It was definitely going to crash into us. No, it smoothly pulled into the prepared gap, so large now that I couldn’t even see the car that had moments before been literally within reach. Now there were new cars before me, and the gap was diminishing as the Möbius came back together. One hundred feet, fifty feet, now twenty, now ten—now, with the gentlest touch, we united with the new launch. I watched as the mechanism below me grasped the pin of the new car, locking it into place and making the Möbius one again.

Amazed at the perfection of the system, my eyes lifted straight up from the union to see, mirroring my own stance, another person staring at me. Understandably stunned, I found myself giving a tenuous, idiotic wave. The person, aside from being in the dark, also wore a helmet, so there was no way to identify them or see their response.

“Are you okay back there?” Ezra asked.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied. “I just nearly clipped myself to a car as it separated, but I think I found Miss Ellis. She just came in on that launch.”

“Excellent! Now that we’ve found our guest, we must have a meeting in the engine cabin.”

“That’s a fine idea,” I said, “but I’m not sure how to communicate that with her.”

But it seemed maybe I wouldn’t need to, for she was already moving quite quickly away from me and up the catwalk of her car.

“Never mind,” I said to Ezra. “I don’t think she liked the sight of me. She just took off in your direction.”

“That’s understandable. I’ll keep ahead of her; you come along behind, John, and keep her in sight and moving.”

“Keep her in sight? She’s practically running!” I said in dismay.

“Keep her in sight, John. She could stow away in one of a hundred places, and we’d never find her.”

I looked to make the transition again, but the memory of the cars separating made me stall. However, looking ahead, I saw the young woman move easily toward the further car, her form rapidly fading into the darkness. Taking a deep breath, I stretched out, hesitating a moment as if waiting to be sure it wasn’t about to pull apart. I secured the carabiner. Rapidly now, I unclipped from the other car and then half-dragged, half-leapt the short gap between the two walkways.

“I made it!” I said proudly.

“Good, John. Now stay with her.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell Ezra that I just meant I had made one transition and that the woman was already well out of sight. Instead, I began forcing myself forward against the onrushing wind up the catwalk. “Forcing” is really the only way to describe this exercise. As you sit comfortably reading this, you may struggle to comprehend the true sensation of being pressed through the atmosphere at over one hundred miles an hour. The air no longer felt nonexistent and permeable but instead drove against my body like a current of water, forcing me to grip the rails on either side and drag myself forward. Bent over and straining, I wondered at the pace both Ezra and Miss Ellis had made. Determining my fear must be playing a part in my slothful speed, I struggled both physically and mentally to improve my gait.

Slowly, the far end of the car drew nearer, and eventually, I faced yet another transition. With no less hesitation than the first, I made the transfer and began forward once more. I could say for certain that my pace was improving, but the woman must still be several cars ahead of me. I considered how far the engine might be. I had only seen the mighty puller briefly, and I wasn’t certain where the cars had split to let us in. I knew the Möbius could be as long as two miles, but at that moment, I had no way of knowing how long it currently was or where I was positioned on it.

Thinking of these things, I reached the end of the car, and with ever-so-slightly increased confidence, I transitioned to the next. The strain on my body was intense, and I wondered if Ezra had really continued without pause or if he had rested at intervals. Maybe Miss Ellis had rested too. This thought gave me some hope.

Looking ahead, I saw the next car was a flatcar from Phoenix, which had been in front of us on the launch. It was a double-decker loaded with steel beams, sheets, and coils. I realized the materials offered me no hold on the right side, presenting instead hard, dangerous edges that reflected the newly risen moon like gleaming silver.

Securing my carabiner, I clutched the single rail and, trying not to look down, dragged myself across. Pressing against the beams and gripping the rail, I took a moment to breathe before pressing on. I found I could clutch at the flanges of the stacked beams and, when available, make use of the cargo straps to gain some headway. But as I reached the end of the beams and looked upon the tower of sheets, I quavered.

The thin, perfectly stacked flats of steel offered no hold or support, and I would have only the rail to aid me. Pulling hand over hand on it, I realized I would be constantly on the edge of the catwalk. I felt the tiniest lurch, gust of wind, or misstep could send me plummeting into the racing darkness below. 

My head spun, and I felt weak in the knees as I made my first effort forward. Almost at once, I found myself unaccountably staring down at the speeding tracks, and I felt I could stand no longer. Unconsciously, it seemed, I pressed away from the rail to lean against the beams but discovered they weren’t behind me. With a cry, I fell into the black void.

I’m afraid my scream must have been quite piercing to poor Ezra’s ears, for I felt certain I was falling to my doom. Instead, I soon struck something quite unexpected—something rather soft and giving. My outcry was accompanied by a grunt from just above me, and then I fell the rest of the way onto the bed of the car, the thing landing with me and emitting another groan. There was rapid jostling now, and I was struck on the head as I struggled to comprehend the situation.

Ezra’s voice sounded out in my helmet, but my mind struggled to process his words. The first thing I could fix my gaze upon was the moon peeking in from a narrow gap. That sight helped me regain my bearings; I knew up from down again. I realized I was still on the train, and someone was trying to extricate themselves from beneath my limp body.

I had fallen into the narrow space between the beams and the tower of sheets, where the rushing air was greatly diminished, and I could hear the muffled sound of a woman’s voice. “Let me be,” she said fiercely, followed by a sharp strike against my head and shoulder. It felt like a foot, and I quickly decided I didn’t want to feel it again. “Stop kicking me,” I said.

“Then get off me,” she retorted.

“I’m trying,” I replied. “I didn’t mean to fall on you.”

“How can you deny it? You just cried out and attacked me!” She stood now, her visor lifted, revealing the glint of her eyes reflecting the silver light behind me.

I remained seated against the stacked sheets, catching my breath, trying to calm my racing heart and spinning head.

“John,” Ezra called again, urgency in his tone, “John, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said weakly.

“I don’t care if you’re okay,” Miss Ellis snapped.

I looked up at her, shaking my head. “Not you. I meant… never mind.” My neck and shoulders ached. I took off my helmet and stretched. “I’m John, John Spencer. Are you Miss Ellis?” I held out my hand to her.

She didn’t shake it but simmered, saying. “Are you here to detain me? Did Ms. Jackson send you?”

“No… and yes. In that order,” I said.

She considered this for a moment, then asked, “Then what are you here for?”

“To find out if you’re right—if someone is stealing from the Möbius.”

For several seconds, she said nothing, simply staring at me. Eventually, she removed her own helmet. “And you thought I was the thief? That’s why you attacked me?”

“I fell on you,” I replied, irritation creeping into my voice. “I thought I was falling from the train. My shout was pure panic, not a battle cry. I thought I was about to die.”

The glint of her teeth revealed a smile as she took in my terrified episode. “You aren’t very brave, are you?”

“You’re the one kicking a fallen man in the head,” I retorted.

“Sorry, John,” she said, the edge in her voice softening.

There was a moment of silence between us, and I heard Ezra’s voice again in my helmet, which I held in my hands. “Someone else is with me,” I said to Sophie. “His name is Ezra; he’s further up the train. I need to tell him I’m alright.” I slipped my helmet back on, cutting off Ezra’s questions. “Yes, I’m here, and I’m okay. I found Miss Ellis. She’s here with me now.”

I could hear the relief in Ezra’s voice. “Good work, John. I suggest you two make haste to the engine. We’re beyond Pittsburgh, but there will be launches from Columbus, Indianapolis, and Chicago all through the night. The faster you get here, the fewer cars you’ll have to traverse.”

Removing my helmet once more, I turned to Sophie. “We should head up the train.”

She scrutinized me with her glistening moonlit eyes. “And you promise you’re not going to trap me or toss me over the edge? You promise you’re a good guy, John?”

Somewhat hurt by her doubt, I replied, “Of course! I’m not going to do anything to you. I’m here to make sure you’re safe and to verify your claim.”

She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll trust you, John. You seem kind, and I guess I don’t really have any choice anyway.”

“Great,” I said, pleased to have won her confidence. “Now, as Ezra suggested, we should press on to the engine as soon as possible. We don’t want to find ourselves on an outgoing launch.”

“Okay,” she replied, a tone of resolution in her voice. Slipping her helmet back on, she stepped past me into the wind and started forward once more.