The feeling of my legs working, actually working, as I pump up the incline of the bridge is fantastic. My calves, still sore from moving a few days prior, are welcoming this strain. I can feel my backpack weighing heavy on my shoulders as the incline becomes much more apparent. Cars whiz past me, but the wind is down and I have no fear of being hit. Overcast skies, however, threaten to open up with rain and drench me as I make my way down the road. My heartbeat pounds inside my chest and I struggle slightly to keep the pace of my breath even. But when the bridge plateaus, a cloudy skyline appears. Looking out, I still can't believe I've lived in this city for a year, that I have a life and a job and a school here. That seeing that beautiful skyline is part of my everyday life. After the small stretch where the city seems to say "Yes, you are home," the bridge begins to descend. My legs can take a break and I coast down the bike lane and into another six corners. The hardest part of my journey is over. I pause for a moment and catch my breath before the light changes and I move onward.