My soul rushes on before my body, I feel myself strained, torn back.

My fibers groan.

Then perhaps the tension relaxes.
So the bicycle will continue to babble about itself.

And it will inevitably wind up with a philosophy.

"Oh, if only the great and divine force rested for ever upon my saddle, and if only the mysterious will which sways my steering gear remained in place for ever: then my pedals would revolve of themselves, and never cease, and no hideous brake should tear the perpetuity of my motions.