Peloton

<p>When thousands of riderless bicycles appeared on the night of June 23rd, there was simply no room for cars on the road. East End streets once plagued by fumes and noise fell silent but for the mechanical whirring of gears running loose chains.</p> <p>The bikes glided past the Stratford Velodrome, laying their invisible tracks, dancing left and right, the pedals turning of their own accord. Some were old and rusted, others were racing bikes. A few once belonged to children. There were no motors or hidden controls, no miraculous winds to power them. Nobody knew how they arrived, or what brought them into existence. They followed the contours of Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, turning right through Bow, into Mile End, and down towards the Thames. Drivers waited and watched.</p> <p><a href="https://medium.com/the-journal-of-radical-wonder/peloton-8e8b79a24b15"><strong>Website</strong></a></p>