The sound of a ruckus coming up behind me – some variety of turmoil, hooting and hollering. It sounds like trouble. When I turn to look though, a pack of bicycle police zip by. They’re pushing the speed limit. The two or three up front have a bit of a lead. They’re working the pedals hard now, trying to sustain their lead. The guys in back are laughing and taunting, “Ride through it, Mark! Ride through it!”
(In retrospect I should’ve yelled out, “Pop a wheelie!”)