ABSTRACT
The aroma of liniment, rubbed into their smoothly shaven tanned legs, wafts through the peloton. Their bodies are lithe and tuned over tens of thousands of kilometers to race. The peloton bulges as the pace slows, or as the road narrows, or in a moment when every rider knows they need to be near the front. The riders at the front are doing roughly thirty percent more of the work, as they cut through the wind, the greatest of hundreds of variables they will face in every race. In the peloton, the flow of movement is incessant, as riders jostle for position. They fight for their place in the group out of the wind, near their teammates and key rivals and close to the front. Teams of riders group together within the peloton so they can react as one. The race over, the riders will embrace a leader who has won or console one who has lost.
