the hare & the tortoise

Driving to work today, late after mistakenly not setting the alarm, the route with its 17 sets of traffic lights was conspiring against me.  After the first roundabout I passed a cyclist in dark clothing, no reflective clothing to mark him out.  A small rectangular rucksack on his back like a stunted attempt at a snail shell.  At each set of lights I passed him again, thinking, this time, this time I will get away from him, and each time the next set of lights changed to red as I approached, and stayed that way until he caught up again, the white dynamo light appearing in the side mirror, misted with road grime.  He shot past me at my turn off junction and rode on into the morning.