Clyde hopped off the bicycle and walked it along when the path had inclined before him. Rob Tommer called out with a good-hearted chide, “Since when did young men adopt the modes of the old? By necessity I walk, with help of a cane. But what’s your excuse? The torpidity of excess?”
Clyde chuckled to hide the offense that he’d taken and reluctantly climbed back astride. The bike wobbled beneath him as he crept up
blessed machine, wheels turning like millstones, ground the man in the man to a grit. Unburdened as such, he reached the top of the hill and swept down the leeward to Kingston.