Chapter 1

When the world runs dry, when the last drop of black gold/dinosaur juice is wrenched from the earth, the machines will grind to a halt. All of the easy motoring days, drive through burger joint strip malls and far flung suburban enclaves will be useless. Irrelevant. The discman will stop spinning, and you will not be able to hop in your car, burn a cretaceous hindquarter there and back, and buy new disposable double aa batteries.

No. Disposable will end.

And who will come pedalling out of this dark future?

Kid Feral, astride his tatinium framed custom cruiser, knobby tires for caressing the harsh concrete and countless, gnarly off-roads. For, in truth, this is a world of off-road.

No more smooth pavement, endless blacktop over which to roll, smoothly and silently.

Welcome to the New World Order.

Slick track is reserved for the Velo Drome Matches. The ultimate test of the fastest and the mightest of the Nuevo Plains Riders. In a world where everyone rides bicycles, these are the champions. The best. The ones to worship. A caste of lawgivers and messengers in the new dark age. An age of enclaves, small communities, isolated by long distances. People who live as a village, with little outside communication.

Into which step the mighty warriors.

You can imagine the excitement. As a young child, you are very much aware of your world. And there you are, sitting. Watching. Waiting. The crows eye your crop. Perhaps, watching sheep grazing. Slowly. And then -

there, on the horizon - a small speck against the post ozone horizon. Brutal.

A rider.