Even though the humidity yesterday was as thick as a putrid boil that needed to be lanced, it was hard to stay inside with the light and shadow cloud show in the sky and the 30 mile wind gusts enveloping the Philadelphia International Cycling Championship.

Nothing can stop these cyclitaurs, half-human, half efficient, pollutionless, perfectly engineered machines. Actually along with the hot breezes, lap bells clanged, as cyclists took over the city that loops around the Parkway, careens around Logan Circle, up and down the drives capped with the notorious hill of death in Manayunk.

The elite racers bring out the esprit of scads city cyclists, their recreational commuters who were reveling in the closed off streets to ride their bikes without the usual sideglance at nearly being mowed down by suburbinites.

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