Vladimir Tretyakov

A cold wind blowing across my face and lifting strands of hair, making them flutter, hands in fingerless gloves gripping the steering wheel tightly, sharp turns and rapidly changing views on both sides of the road. Street cycling is what Krimenov had been living for a long time.
Matvey was a well-known cyclist who earned well-deserved recognition in his circles. He was immersed in bicycles from childhood, learned to ride at a fairly young age, and almost immediately asked his parents to enroll him in a cycling class, which he mastered very quickly and quickly became one of the best in the sport.
The blue-haired man was currently facing another race. A race with guys he'd heard about a couple of times...he certainly wouldn't call them strong opponents, so he had no doubt he'd win. It was evening, but it wasn't dark enough to turn on headlights yet. The other riders were already getting ready, each doing their own thing. After double-checking his bike was working properly, Matvey began studying the route for today. Well, there weren't a single sharp turn or descent, and most of the road was straight...the easiest victory of Matvey's life; there was simply no room for error on such a route.
The guys took their positions on the lanes, and the countdown began. Matvey's hands gripped the handlebars tightly, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. As soon as the leader uttered the coveted "start," the pedals began spinning, and Krimenov shot forward without any trouble, overtaking the others. The road was easy, and for a second, the guy even lost the feeling of competing, as this felt like his easiest workout yet. Ten minutes and a few laps later, the finish was already in sight. Matvey didn't even push himself too hard, calmly moving to the finish line, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a guy named Tretyakov, a newbie to cycling, came barreling down the next lane, laughing loudly.