What souped-up, smogfree, quiet-riding dream machine has two wheels, one sprocket, and a subculture all its own?
THE SLEEK, BLACK limousine pulled up in front of the bike shop. A grey-haired man, looking fat and prosperous in a Savile Row suit, stepped out and walked into the store. He stood at the counter, pulled out $350 from a wad of orange bills. Along the wall, bicycle spokes glistened like diamonds.