Tires susurrating against fresh pavement, crunching through real gravel, crackling through dead leaves. The wah-wah-wah of a knobby on asphalt. The whiz and whirl of the wheel in the repair stand, brakes freshly aligned, the sound of momentum dissipating, high to low, until each pawl clicks, until silence.

One tire against another, at speed, briefly overlapping, buzzing, a murmured apology, a chuckle. The coincident clicking of a gear change as a climb ramps. The serial thud of a paceline over a horizontal crack in the road.

A chain rolling backwards over teeth, slowly, lubricant dripping. Ten chains in a line, slipping through their derailleurs, bees in a hive. One chain just going dry, beginning its rhythmic chirp.

A jacket flapping in the torrent of a fast descent. The wind changing direction in the vents of a helmet. Cold creeping into hands and feet in winter. The tingle in your chest in cold weather, as your core warms, and you begin to sweat.

The way the pedals feel under your feet, up into your knees on a long climb, sinews straining. The feeling in your gloves as the day warms, your thumbs slowly going numb as they slide back to your wrists. The electricity up your arm as you slap them against your thighs.

The steady doppler of traffic over a left shoulder. The buzz of a freewheel, a friend coming up behind you.

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