said Stephens, revving up his rpms. Muldaur took the lead, Zak second, Stephens a distant third, and behind him Giancarlo. “Fucking dog,” said Muldaur. “Is he catching us?” asked Zak. “I can’t tell.” “He wasn’t running when I saw him.” “That’s because he had his nose to the ground.” “Is he running now?” Zak turned around to check. The dog was moving in a lope. Dozer was a large dog—120, 130 pounds—so traveling uphill wouldn’t be easy for him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t run down four men on mountain bikes. The mechanical advantage of a bike extended only so far. “What the hell?” gasped Stephens, who was still a couple of bike lengths in front of Giancarlo. “Wait for me. You guys? Wait for me!” For half a minute they pedaled as hard as they could. As the effort began to eat into their reserves, Muldaur and Zak gained more ground on the other two until Zak realized that by the time the dog reached them, he and Muldaur might be out of sight.
