never seen it. IPods need adrenaline sensors though.
You're listening to James Last but you're riding along the flat. You glance over your shoulder and there's three blokes in the very far distance. Itunes genius ramps it up to Whitney. You peg it down a cog and just ever so slightly increase the pedal pressure. Couple of miles later (you're not bothered of course), you look back over your shoulder to confirm you;ve dropped them but they're even closer! BAM!
Your glands push another micrograms of adrenaline in. Instantly the ipod drops Dusty and loads up Pink. You are now sweating. Down your crack. More pressure, another gear. Pink moves over for Queen. You slow for the lights, a quick look under the arm look tells you they're can now smell your fear. Half way through Brighton Rock your ipod loads up Highway to Hell. Your legs are a blur, your vision is rocked by sweat and you are breathing heavier than a fat girl in a cake shop.
Now you're going tits out. It feels like you have no more to give but the sounds of three dura-ace rear mechs dropping down one right behind you makes it all step up to a level you'd never even believed existed.
All you can see is a thin strip of tarmac. All you can hear as the ipod hits the overload function is Keith screaming his way through Diesel Power and all you can feel is Pain. Pain like no other. And then they've passed you. The faint sounds of Song 2 disappear into the distance and you collapse onto the bars. You've been **** good and proper.
Your body responds and lactic acid surges round it. Rick Astley tells you not to bother giving it up but it's too late.
