This was the final Tuesday Night Club Ride of 2019. And tonight, as the rumors had swirled all week on the group chat, The Watt King Pulleth .
You know him without being told. He is the one not talking. He is the one who has already ridden thirty miles to the start. His bike is a black monolith of aero carbon, covered in the road salt of three previous centuries. His face is a mask of stoic, high-lactate blankness. He has not shaved his legs since October, which makes him look more terrifying, not less. The tufts of winter fur catch the sodium light like the hackles of a wolf. This was the final Tuesday Night Club Ride of 2019
This is the secret the Watt King knows, and the sprinters do not. The final Tuesday night ride is not about winning. It is about finishing . About being the one who rolls back into the industrial park lot with the same number of teeth and a slightly larger soul. He is the one not talking
It is not the face of a man suffering.
His name is not important. Last season, he was Cat 3. Next season, he will be Cat 2. Tonight, he is God. His face is a mask of stoic, high-lactate blankness
At Mile 22, the ride passes through the town of Blecker’s Corner . Population 412. One flashing yellow light. One gas station where, in July, the ride stops for Gatorade.