6:30 AM Saturday morning, hot . . . sultry . . . windy . . . off we go . . .
five boys and their bikes.
Suddenly, out of nowhere . . . a sixth rider appears.
"gee . . . you guys really do leave on time" he says
Trying in vain to confuse us, he tells us his name is Pete.
But, we already have a Pete with us today. How can that be?
The pace escalates quickly . . . this is going to be a fun one
I think to myself.
play time!
30 miles out, my tongue dragging from repeated sprints,
this self described "Pete" looks at me and says:
"so can you accelerate on a climb?"
"huh . . . I'll show him . . ." I wait a few seconds, then hit the gas.
The boys are dropped in one second flat. I back off . . . and then
Pete drops the hammer . . . game over!
Astute readers may recall, over the last several days
I have concluded that riding fast is all about
either a red or blue jersey.
Today I learned otherwise;
It's all about tall, black socks!
I know Lance wears em
(funny, I only wear black socks. . . why don't work for me?)
The mood changed just a bit when one brave rider who followed me to the gravel, apparently spent and worn . . . hopped off his bike
and slashed his own tire with a nearby rock
Mocha Moose and duct tape to the rescue!
"nothing planned" for Sunday or Monday. Tuesday back on schedule.
Use the Google Group
to organize something!
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