Having little choice, Navidson continues on. The hours sweep by. He tries to drink as little water as many thousands of miles he has traveled. He just continues to ride, lost in a trance born out of motion describing the ash floor in front of him before it is already behind him, until all of a sudden, although "As if all along, during the last week, I had sensed something out there" Navidson stutters into the

possible. The odometer breaks. Navidson does not care. It no longer seems relevant to him how and darkness, the lamp on his bike never casting light more than a few yards ahead, barely nothing appears to have changed, one moment differs from the rest, warning Navidson to stop. Hi 8 an hour later. "And then all at once it was gone, replaced by — *