I stop for a moment. Contemplate and watch.
Headlights and speed turn the everyday into the otherworldly. Martian invaders! Wells would be proud.
Or perhaps not.
“Every time I see an adult on a bicycle”, Wells mused, “I no longer despair for the future of the human race”.
Only one bike here; mine.
Fresh from a head clearing, lung bursting, leg warming ascent to watch South Wales lights wink on like so many little candles as daylight drifts relentlessly West. To see my little light lost, a tiny brilliance in a sea of contrast.
On top of that hill, above it all, out of the maelstrom, the mad dash, the home time melee. I’m out of the blaze.