he said, waving the bright-orange puck held in his hand before stuffing it into an outer pocket on a suspiciously large and overfilled backpack. Considering the relative brevity of the ride we were about to undertake, I wondered whether ‘overfill’ rhyming with ‘overkill’ had some sort of deeper meaning. But hey, to each his own, I thought. So I kept my mouth shut, stared off into the sunny distance while he adjusted his kneepads one more time and tapped my bare fingers quietly on my handlebars in anticipation of the coming couple hours.

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