The buzzing in my spine echoed that of my tires, their knobs howling at the insult of being directed across asphalt.
Call my agent! Check my ryder! I will not work under these conditions!
Oh how the knobs did howl with insult!
Do you know who I AM?
Then came another buzz.
And that buzz came not with pleasure, but alarm.
A truck?
I was riding to pick mine up.
Lifted. Big stupid tires.
They buzzed.
My spine buzzed.
I let off the paved shoulder and down into the dirt I rolled. Tires crunched gravel as my freewheel buzzed
The buzz wasn’t too much
(in fact just enough)
I popped back on the pavement and pedaled a little bit more quickly - a whole lot more quickly
I simply sprinted.
Buzz buzz buzz
What sound do you make when your outrun your fear?
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