sucked wheel like a famished cheetah chases down lunch

So I'm doing a loop around PI last evening and pull out of the spur that goes out to the floating pond houses and up comes a friendly racer type.  He asks why I don't have a rear brake and I give him some line like I don't ride fast enough to need both front and rear brakes.  (The real reason is that I hate maintaining the machine and the cable had rusted off last summer and I just disconnected it.)  He acknowledges and starts to pull away. 

A sudden testosterone rush comes over me and I jump on his wheel like a dung beetle to fresh shit.  I quickly notice that he probably weighs at least 50 pounds less than I do and he has the form of someone who can pound the snot out of his cranks.  We soon head west and catch a nice tailwind.  I'm still tucked into his slipstream like the rear pelican in a long bevy pushing a March headwind.  He's in the big ring and starts dropping the chain into the lower rear sprockets to take advantage of the friendly wind.  I'm stuck in the small ring for the same reason I don't have a rear brake.  My cycle computer is blank for the same reason I don't have a rear brake or a way to shift into the big ring but we have to be nearing at least 30 mph.  I'm sucking up air like a ramjet on takeoff.  He then pulls over to let me take a pull.  Shit! 

I take a feeble pull and then he quickly resumes.  A half mile later we come to a fork and I hang right knowing he'll bear left.  I wave him ado and coast to a sane pace for a near geriatic whose glory days were at least 2 decades ago.  I spin it back to the suburban and choke up throat mucus for awhile thinking perhaps I should do a little maintenance on the machine.