The heat inside the velodrome rose like a living thing, swelling from seventy-five to eighty degrees Fahrenheit as the desert afternoon pressed against the curved walls. From beneath the wooden track came the faint, steady breathing of the air-handling system—a mechanical sigh under the foundation that vibrated faintly through the frame of my bicycle. Six thousand feet above sea level, in the thin air of Aguascalientes, Mexico, I began to ride.
03
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