When I am the fastest man I will lead rides with benevolence and dignity. I will choose trails that accentuate the skills and disciplines earned by hard work. I will provide opportunities for communion and long turns just above conversational pace.
I am not yet the fastest man.
The fastest man yesterday rode as if he hated the woods, and wished to be out of them as soon as possible. He sought to kill us by attrition. For 2 hours the beating continued as we rode up all downhills and sought the washed-out and vine-entangled remnants of trail on the north side of Tallahassee. I rode strong and fast and angry. I was nimble, dab-free, and fearless on all terrain, but I was not the fastest man.
Riders tumbled and bled as they submitted to the pace of the fastest man. I cursed him and assayed him for weakness. Even the fastest men must sleep. We all fear something. I do not fear him though, the fastest man, I could see his wheel just ahead in the forest, a man on a bike like anybody else.
When I am the fastest man they will drown on my dust and fill their guts with chagrin and remorse. If they don’t cut the oak down early it grows too strong for their axe.