The Rider and The Frenchman

I am currently reading a book called The Rider by Tim Krabbe. It tells of his race at the Tour de Mont Algoual. In between passages about the race, he feels in little antidotes as his brain moves from one thought to the next.
This is one of the passages that stood out.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100: numbers worn by riders killed in races.

It's a pretty stark and honest passage, he mentions it and seems like he moves on. but the weight of it is very apparent. It forms a large block, different from all the other text. You only need to read the first few and last few numbers to know whats there, but chances are you go back and look at them to make sure one is not left out.

In the past few months there has been a few deaths. Some it was the rider's error and some the rider did nothing wrong. I never knew any of them, but it still rests heavy on my mind. I think about it each time I ride my bike. The thoughts I have are the same that I had years ago.
Don't be the reason your family can't see you.
You need to be able to help them.
Don't give others the ability to take you out.
Every now and then a friend comments that I ride a little dangerously because I am more into the street. Cars honk at me every now and then because I'm almost in their lane. These are reassuring. The car can see me and I won't be a number.

A french man is in our house.