The Cyclist

Lean predators move along in the morning fog in their yellow and black suits. Wheels spin and we hear the brittle hum and buzz of spokes, cogs and chains. There is no courtesy bell, or a chipper “on your right” as they pass an older woman running on the trail. They, unconscious, slide past on both sides taking her by surprise and stealing some of her breath. The middle-aged mantis in the lead sheathed in a gray, wrinkled skin determined, but selfish to others on the trail. As they coast on, the tick tick, and click click of ratchets and pawls is all we hear as the pale creatures move forward through the morning oblivious to all but themselves.