Dispatch from Packwood, captivity

How long I was held captive, I do not know.

The searing amber light of the autumn days burned my eyes and skin as it pierced the towering larch. I was treated with indifference by the blue uniformed clan and forced to perform menial tasks about the camp, changing flats, lubing chains and adjusting brakes. I was soon inured to the beatings I received when I made mistakes and became expert at my given tasks.

I never learned what the games were, but I did learn they did not go well.

‘Everyone knows the randonneur type cycle is superior to the mountain bike!’ the screams of the heavily accented leader were endless and repetitive. ‘I challenged him to a roll-down double-blind and he only laughed and sucked on his water skin tube! Such insolence I will silence with hill repeats!’ The leader would soon tire himself and wrap his disgusted and disappointed person up in his space blanket and pout for hours, only to begin his rants again.

I was given the tandem they abducted me on to perform adjustments and in my horror I ran.

I ran for my life, my soul, my freedom only to trip and fall on my own cycle the bucephalus. Howling in pain from my sprained ankle I realized I had discovered my way to freedom, my own cycle. I masked my devious thoughts of freedom and set myself to work upon the hated tandem of my captivity, laying my plans.

Soon I will be avenged and free. Soon.


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