Which way the wind blows

It was my last trip one early afternoon on the 72. We were westbound approaching the stop before Powerline. As we serviced the stop, a cyclist came out of nowhere on the sidewalk and hit the brakes. He motioned to me that he was boarding and proceeded to stow his bike on the rack.

"Wow! I can't believe I caught you! You'll never believe how far I came," he breathlessly exclaimed as he swiped his pass. He was clearly gassed from a strenuous ride, yet also exhilarated by the achievement of catching the bus.
"Whoa, catch your breath! I didn't see you back there, were you trying to catch the bus?" I asked, concerned for his immediate well-being and also tentatively apologetic if I had somehow missed him at a previous stop.
"The reason you didn't see me is because I was way up at 38th Street when you passed Andrews. I didn't think I had a chance to catch you, but there was a strong wind at my back and I was flying. When I got down to Oakland Park I could see you up ahead and knew I had a chance if the light turned red at Powerline. See, I told you you wouldn't believe it," he excitedly related his unlikely journey of some distance that was made possible by determination, timing of traffic lights, and a windy day blowing his way.
"I don't know what to say. It doesn't seem possible, but I have no reason not to believe you," was all I could say as I pondered his story.
"What's weird is this time of day the wind is usually blowing the other way," he continued, wondrous and alive thanks to this experience - and needing to share it with someone right away.

Maybe that's a good sign, when the wind changes direction and carries us farther than we could on our own.