Mr. Coper lay on his stomach while a masseuse, hired by Hayden, worked on his hamstrings. Those legs told me why the Colorado Kid rode so fast. He had the physique of a winner: long limbs, slim waist, barrel chest. I might mistake him for Gary, if not for his dark hair. He impressed me as someone who also had a strong mind accustomed to suffering.
“Mr. Huntsman, the cycling journalist, what brings you here? Do you need some quotes for your journal?”
“I need a massage.”
“Well, I can’t help you. Ask Mr. Hayden if he’ll loan you our masseuse. He is known for his acts of charity to the well-deserving.”
“I don’t need his handouts. How are you holding up?”
“Nothing to complain about. Robert Napp keeps me in check. Your friend, Mr. Mandrel, isn’t the only one being held back by the Scotsman.”
“Is that so? If you go around him, will he kick you off his team?”
“I’m not pressing him on the matter. Mr. Hayden pays well, and massages are free. I see no reason to go against Napp’s wishes.”
“You pulled out front for several laps. He let you?”
“He’s no fool. He takes my draft to rest and stay in the race. He can’t stay in the saddle non-stop. Nature calls.”
“What did you think about the accident?”
“Mr. Mandrel knew better. He has to be a lot more aggressive, if he wants to pass Napp. He must spurt with the fury of a howling banshee. Tell him he needs to up his game, but I admire his abilities. And that bike…I look forward to racing the safety. It’s a fine machine, superior to our wobbly wheels whose sole advantage is blocking. The ordinary is built like a war wagon.”
“Gary will prove himself when the time comes. He gave me a can of liniment. I don’t know if it will help me ride like him, but I tried some.”
Silicon Valley Cyclist 
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