Into the hills they climb, across the plains they sprint and from the silent towers of the city to the highest eyrie the Wheelmen sweat. It is one of the grandest machines to be devised by mankind, and one of the grandest pleasures whether your clip be brisk or staid to listen to that crisp clack of a freewheel or the hum of a tire. It says “adventure” and whispers “escape”.
The Wheelmen ride not for glory nor for sport: it is for pleasure. The pleasure of rubbery legs and cramped hands, the crisp tang and sweet stains of sweat. Dust on your legs and wind teared eyes.
Ride not for whiskey, nor woman, nor victory. Ride a bicycle because it is a bicycle. Ride to celebrate the spirit of youth. Straddle your steel or aluminum or carbon and pull for all you’re worth.