Riding in a peloton can be a lot like sex — a blissful harmony of movement. At the tantric level there exists a communal sustained effort. There is no need for communication. You can sense the movement of one another. To be a part of a peloton moving through corners, navigating its way in the mountains is to be a part of A Love Supreme in motion.
When the road rises and Gravity beings pulling you back, harmony of form fails. Awkward teenage sex ensues: bodies draped across handlebars, limbs jettisoning inappropriately, maligned facies, bizarre guttural sounds. If only the climax came as quickly.