The lake catches my eye as I ride past it. The reflection of the yellow tree leaves on the calm water make me tap the brakes and stop. The cycling purist in me has often feared the day when taking photos became more important than the ride itself. But it turns out that it’s the purity of the ride that brings me to the shots, my world view from the saddle inciting me to take notice. I stop again a little further along the lake and walk down closer to the water’s edge. I haven’t noticed the ducks until they start floating towards me. Time slows down to a standstill. I become emotional. Inundated with a certain understanding. Something infinitely bigger and greater than me instantly bringing me back to the now. That moment. Potent beyond measure. Pure magic lifting me up. Undivided existence in a single frame. This is why I ride. And maybe this is why they call it the golden hour.