“Where are we at, Nic?” I ask the guy riding next to me, whose head is nodding like a dashboard dog. While staying alert to the London traffic around him, he is continually glancing down at his bar-mounted screen.
We’re by Westminster Bridge, I know that much – I was a bike courier in the Big Smoke for a while – but I’m not enquiring about our geographical whereabouts. I want to know where we are in the picture we’re drawing while we’re pedalling.
