I quietly slipped out of bed, tiptoed down the stairs, and very slowly opened the door. A cool August morning greeted me. The sun was low on the horizon. But what I was really checking was the wind. There was none. Perfect for biking. I rolled my bike out of the garage and walked to the road. Nate and I could get an hour ride in before it got too hot.

Jumping on my bike, I took a deep breath and started north on our quiet country road. The dew was sparkling on the roadside grass next to the cornfield. The cornstalks were beginning to turn yellow. Fall was creeping in ...

Nate was my best friend, and just happened to live up the road from us. It was nice to have a kid from the same grade living nearby when you live in the country. We'd been in the same class since kindergarten. Soccer would start in a couple of weeks, and we were biking to get in shape for the season. But mainly, we planned to tryout for the traveling team this year. A lot of kids would be competing for the team.

I could see Nate's silhouette near his driveway waiting for me.

"Hey," I said, slowing down. Nate, who was much taller and stronger than me, started pedaling next to me. Last year, while I'd stayed about the same size, he had shot up and gained about fifteen pounds.

"Three days in a row," he grinned at me from under his Green Bay Packers cap.

"Let's hope it pays off at the tryouts."

"Maybe we should ride further today, you know, increase our endurance." But the truth was, Nate had been a star on our team last year and didn't need to do anything extra. His size and power would guarantee him a place on the traveling team. It was me who needed the workout.

We rode in silence for awhile. A couple sandhill cranes were feasting on bugs in the soybean field. One let out a loud guttural call that traveled across the morning silence. A pocket of fog in a low area hid the trees near the horizon.

We came to a fork in the road that we'd never taken. "Hey, let's check out this road," I swerved to the left last minute. Nate, who was ahead, turned around and followed me down the bumpy, narrow road. We passed a marsh and small woods. A white house with a half collapsed barn came into view. There were apple trees and a picnic table with peeling paint in front of the little house, and a pasture with a couple horses.

But what really surprised me was a full line of clothes hanging in two neat rows - mostly jeans and T-shirts. "Someone had to get up real early to wash and hang all these clothes," I said, slowing down.

"Maybe they did it last night, figuring the clothes could dry all day."

"Seems silly to have clothes drying outside in this heavy dew."

"Unless the person has to go to work." Nate stopped and looked more closely at the items on the line. "Must be a real big guy from the size of those jeans. And, look, several shirts say Franklin Construction. Bet he works there."

"Those work shirts all have the same slogan: Look back with pride. I suppose that means that after they finish the job, they should be able to look back at it and know they did a good job."

"Wow, Ben. That's good thinking."

"Kind of fun to figure out stuff from the clothesline," I continued, "like a riddle. We can learn about these guys just by the clothes on their line."

"So, what about the wife? Looks like a couple small T-shirts, shorts, and a dress that's all bright colors."

"Not much. She's not so big for a girl. Otherwise, pretty normal. Maybe has to dress up for work." I was leaning against my handlebars.

Nate laughed, "You crazy." He took off, and I followed, still thinking about the slogan, look back with pride ... look back. Maybe it was a little message to me. I laughed at my own silly joke.

The side road rejoined the main road past a grove of trees. The sun was bright, and I was getting warm. "Hang on," I yelled up to Nate. Stopping, I took off my sweatshirt and tied it around my waist. We got to Pine Ridge Road, and Nate swerved off toward his driveway. "I'll call you later," he called out and waved.

I waved back, and increased my speed; thinking about a glass of water and the omelet mom would hopefully make for me before she left for work. Passing Rockway Road, I put out my hand to signal a left turn into our driveway. For some reason, the slogan from the clothesline T-shirt came back into my head ... Look back.

So I looked back over my shoulder up Rockway Road. And what a surprise. A black sports car was in the ditch. It looked about ready to topple over. Normally, I don't look up Rockway on my way back because I'm hungry and anxious to get home. Besides, Rockway is quiet without much traffic.

I quickly braked, turned around and headed for the car. Slowly approaching, I suddenly felt afraid of what I might find. I'd never before been the first person at an accident. What if there was a badly hurt person? Or worse, a dead person?