Rhythms Of Speed Racers

...Like a dash.  Too fast for proper photographic documentation.  They were gone, down Virginia and back up Louisiana by way of Hunt Street.  Full out east back to the square to loop around the old courthouse on Tennessee Street, then quickly back west on Virginia again.  Over and over, lungs working with the bikes in rhythms of speed racers.  White fences marked the track, hay bales on the turns and corners, a few treacherous brick surfaces.  The Benji house, old Dr. McCarley's, where front teeth destruction was fixed over three decades ago.  After a Spree scotter wreck.  Holy moly, those teeth were gone.  Happy gas and novocaine.  Like some Lone Star wine.  The young will always catch the old, they are not discouraged, they know they will get better, they are motivated by it.  Always, eventually...