The leader of the group. At least, that’s what he thinks. He usually finds his spot right in the warm belly of the pack—protected from the wind, comfortably shielded by the chaos he claims to command. He doesn’t close gaps. In fact, the concept of urgency seems foreign to him unless it directly interferes with his personal cadence.
And suppose he gets a flat tire unexpectedly. In that case, he raises a finger like it’s a ceremonial gesture, rolls to the side of the road, and stands there—half annoyed, half convinced the universe misplaced an obstacle in his storyline. There’s no waving frantically, no attempt to fix it fast, no panicked sprint to catch back on. Just the quiet confidence of a man assuming the convoy will orbit back around him eventually.
But as you enter the last 10 kilometers, something unmistakable shifts. The air thickens. The finish line gets louder without making a sound. He smells the coffee at the end—the podium pastries, the promise of glory, the unspoken bragging rights that linger at every race finish. And just like that, the diesel engine hidden beneath that easy-going exterior fires up.
He moves forward.
Not smoothly. Not elegantly. But with purpose. A few wheels first. Then a bike length. Then another. Suddenly, his shoulders dip, his elbows tighten, and his eyes sharpen. He no longer rides in the group—he’s riding toward the story he’d hoped to headline all along.
And at the most unexpected moment—likely when everyone else has settled into the rhythm of simply finishing strong—he’ll try to strike. Not for strategy. Not for timing. But because he can’t resist rewriting his role in the final scene. If he sees daylight, he’ll take it on instinct alone. And if he finds a gap, oh, he’ll exploit it as if it were custom-built for his ambitions.
Every watt of stored energy he’s been hoarding for that exact moment—every soft-pedaled kilometer, every gap left for others to fill, every moment of serene conservation—comes roaring out in a burst of chaotic brilliance. He’ll commit fully, heart rate spiking into questionable territory. Because for him, the ride isn’t just about finishing together—it’s about finishing memorable.
He may not be the leader the group expected.
But he’ll always be the one they remember seeing disappear down the road one last time… finger no longer raised, coffee now firmly within reach.
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