There are warriors who transcend toughness and resilience, cutting a fine line between the brave and the reckless. In search of that perfect moment, when piston thighs and calves strung like a bow whistle in the wind. The symbiotic mechanics of body and machine sing a harmony of sweat and oil. Every calorie capturing cell in their bodies ignites in a wave, leaving a cloak of fatigue in their wake. And yet they continue on, as a whipped horse to the cruel master of their spirit's livid determination.
Saucer-eyed devotees fog the roadside to catch a slim sliver of silver chrome as their idols dart pass. They conquer Dartmoor like spartans yet sustain a humble reverence for the ruthless brutality she chooses to withhold.