Powdered donuts

"As the miles shifted into days and Texas ranches became Tennessee hills and Tennessee hills became historical Pennsylvania, I too began to shift. I ate breakfast, lunch and dinner. I ate snacks. I immersed myself in life's essentials: food, drink, shelter and warmth.

"I thought about miles and inclines, flat tires and rain. I thought about the strength of my body and the strength of my spirit. I pedaled, grinding my history, its lessons, and the countless times I'd willed it gone into my muscles and joints, until they became a part of my fiber.

And somewhere in New York state, about two to three cycling days west of Syracuse, I sat contentedly outside a convenience store eating mini-donuts. My back rested against the standard bland beige color of the cement wall and I felt the heat of the sun on my already toasted face.

"I popped a donut, the white-powdered kind that leaves white traces around your lips, into my mouth and washed it down with chocolate milk..."

Michelle Hamilton, in "The Long Road," from the anthology "Her Fork in the Road: Women Celebrate Food and Travel"