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R ory pedaled fast, spurred on by a burst of excitement and anticipation as Union Hill receded into the distance. Despite her hard riding, she made slow progress. This was intentional. She made several stops, detouring off the trail to document the GAP’s effects—intentional and otherwise—on the surrounding area.

Her stomach growled in protest. She ignored it and continued pedaling. She could eat and rest her jelly-like legs when she reached her first stopping point—a small cave set into a hillside about twelve miles west of Union Hill, eight miles east of Clarksville. The cave didn’t appear on any trail maps and was accessible only by a barely visible path through dense underbrush. She’d stumbled across it during a bike ride soon after she moved to town. A crack of thunder announced a sudden storm while she was photographing the lichen on a felled tree alongside the trail. As the rain sheeted down, she spotted the cave above and scrabbled up the hillside to wait out the storm.

The deceptively narrow entrance opened up to a surprisingly spacious interior. She’d been content to shelter there and, when the rain stopped, was delighted to see that the sunlight hit the cave at an interesting angle. She’d taken a series of pictures before leaving and had returned several times since to photograph the way light filtered through the trees that shielded the mouth of the cave from sight. The cave was completely hidden from the trail.

By the time she reached the concealed turnoff, it was late afternoon. The sun was in the sky and the air was beginning to take on a chill. Leaning her bike against a tree, she followed the narrow path up the gentle slope until the mouth of the cave appeared through the foliage. Then it was a quick climb up the rocky hillside to the cave itself.

Inside, she settled on the smooth stone floor, unpacking her protein bars and water. The cave was cool but not yet cold. The slanting sunlight warmed her face and shoulders for now. And she had a warm jacket in her pack for later.

She nibbled on a chalky chocolate-flavored energy bar while she scrolled through the images on her camera’s viewfinder, reviewing the photos she’d taken along the way: an abandoned gas station; the contrast between a row of sleek, expensive trail cycles lined up at an overlook awaiting their riders and a group of tired hospitality workers huddled under a bus shelter waiting for one of the handful of public buses still operating in the area; a wild, unmaintained section of the trail; and a half-collapsed barn in the process of being reclaimed by nature.

Rory transferred the images to her phone and made rudimentary edits. Then she typed out descriptions, checked them over for obvious typos, and uploaded the series to her website and shared them across her social media accounts. She hit send on the last photo and stood, slipping the phone into her pants pocket.

Her back twinged and her shoulders ached. She’d been hunched over her phone longer than she’d realized. She rolled her neck and shoulders and was mid-forward fold when she heard a familiar voice.

“Rory? I know you’re up here somewhere. Your bike’s at the trailhead.”

She rolled up to standing, and a sudden stabbing abdominal pain nearly knocked her back down. She clung to the cave wall to brace herself as the pain in her midsection roared like a fire. Her heart raced and her breath came fast and shallow. Lightheaded and shaking, she tried to push herself up, but as nausea overcame her, she slid down the wall and doubled over, clutching her stomach.

Footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the cave’s entrance. “Rory.”

As she turned toward the sound of her name, she pitched forward, dizzy and sweating from the pain. Her palms connected with the rough cave floor and her forearms trembled from the effort of holding herself up. Her vision tunneled, and darkness seeped in from the periphery.

She managed to stand—for a moment. As she swayed, she finally remembered what she’d forgotten to do. Then she was falling, and the hard cave floor rushed up to meet her.