Peddling on a bicycle in a sea of men on bicycles, off to seek work in the city, was the safest he thought he had ever felt doing anything in crowds.  They were at a slow pace.  The distances were long, the heat could be merciless, the air airborne sand.  The men bore it together in words shared or shouted — so that it alarmed him when their voices got suddenly engulfed by a cacophony of bicycle bells ringing and getting louder.  Pretty quickly, he too was ringing for it was all he could hear.  The men bunched up so that the sea turned into a river and took an almost immediate turn to the left.  The ringing grew deafening and propelled the river into yet another turn, and then another.  When the bicycle bells then ceased and the chatting and shouting returned, he learned that they had simply managed to avert an “accident” of two trucks “bumping” (certain violence) and were now safe, back on the main road.  He never forgot how he had almost thrown his arms up in a Yay! but had instead melded back into the sea of men, into the mindset of his fellow riders, to accept that what to him felt memorable was but an incidental part of a workday ritual for them, to be repeated at workday’s end.