Let's imagine taking around 150 bicyclists on twisting mountain roads... and then let's have them break the posted speed limit in many places. Oh, yeah, let's also add several cars and motor cycles to the mix. Then let's add mechanics, medical people, and spectators. Now let's race for glory over 60 miles. Now let's make it your job to get everybody back safely. Ready, you have just been appointed "Commissar" The brain at the center of the beast's nervous system. You are controlling a rolling organic being... the peloton. No sweat right? The commissar rules the course, for 190 minutes, the racers's life is in your hands.
Alright, let's slip behind the wheel of the car, yeah you will also be driving, and strap in. As Commissar you will listen to the input from all of the beast's nervous system, the motorcade, the police escorts, SRAM Neutral Support (mechanics) and all the other officials as they bark reports through the two way radios.
"Rider Number XXXX, mechanical, off the back."
"Women's race, 17 minutes behind the men's peloton"
"Rider number XXX, flat, just beyond the feed zone"
"Four rider break up front, they're stringing out the race"
Listening, to all situations as they develop the commissar responds... Every action on the course mandates a reaction from the central nervous system. You must control the beast... Holding the handset, the commissar calmly sends orders out to bring the race back under control. And remember that we are pacing cyclists who can, on their two wheel race bikes, take downhill turns at over 50 mph, which are posted for 25 for cars, and you are driving, carefully warning the photographer hanging out the window to hold on as you close the pace with the Beast.
There are multiple waves on the course at the same time. In this race, for instance, the men's field actually lapped the earlier departing women's field. In order for the two race groups to pass safely, they must be coordinated. If they are left to there own devices, there could be chaos. Sitting on the heels of the race, the Commissar (The Brain of the Beast) see's everything. As the race stretches out, his officials and in fact all of the support members are his eyes, and ears, sending back word of the race developments, as they evolve, along high tech radio neurons.
Ed: Note: as the two fields pass each other, on what can be narrow roads, the Commissar has many options. He could neutralize the group being eclipsed, by pulling them off road, or as he did in this case, string out the lead group in single file along the roadside to allow the charging, faster, group to pass.
Ahead, the peloton itself is a mass of muscle and machine. Each rider, serving as a human piston grinding away on every climb, powering the beast uphill, then wildly accelerating driving into every descent and turn, reaching speeds that would whisk cars off the road into the ditch. Drive - listen - think - decide - and drive hard.
You must control the peloton (The Muscles of the Beast) as it rubberbands its way through the course. As the Commissar you must constantly keep your fingers on the pulse of the action and the Beast. As its Brain you must feel the pulmonary stress and the fatigue. You must protect the pistons as they explode into action, churning inside the engine block of the beast. The Muscles expand and contract, winding their way through hilly, serene countryside. Fuel is low, you must sustain the beast...
Entering the feed zone, The Muscles have food and water awaiting them. On both sides of the road is nourishment it temps the Beast. But the Brain reacts, "Move all feeders to the right" the sympathetic nervous system crackles to action.
The Muscles are quenched, the waste products must be removed. Bottles are ejected to all sides of the course. All that remains is to bring them home, in the end you must loose the beast it must become... It must rage. It must sprint to the finish, ultimately you must relinquish control... But for now this is your beast. You are the master.