Vidi Velo Vici by Robbie Whyte
Monday—08.38 A.M.
Evan tapped the steering wheel in time to the music. It was true—there really ain’t no mountain high enough. Not that it mattered. He had been crawling along in a traffic jam for the last fifteen minutes and the freedom of mountains and space were another world at that moment. Road works: oh bliss, oh joy, the bane of the modern motorist. No, scratch that, the henchmen to speed cameras. Now those were the bane of the modern motorist.
Movement flashed past his window as a cyclist weaved through the traffic and lightly clipped the edge of Evan’s mirror with his handlebars.
“Bloody hell,” he growled and slammed on the steering wheel.
It wasn’t so much a clip as a brush but Evan was still irked. He scanned the traffic ahead searching for
