Interlude

Imagine this:

You’re riding on a beautiful country road. There are tall, green trees at your sides and miles of smooth pavement ahead of you. The sky is a slice of blueberry pie a la mode, your favorite dessert, and the wind is kissing you all over. You stop for a moment and you smile. You are at peace.

Then you feel the ground tremble. Vultures fly overhead and the clouds bruise and swell. The squirrel you were hand feeding, lacking the proper facial muscles to express fear, abruptly darts off into the forest. Your smile melts into a frown. You are alone.

“What is going on?” You wonder.

Then 22 tons of metal, exhaust and extraneous tire scream past you, knocking you to the ground. Your vertebrae still in tact, you look up from the pavement just in time to watch “…Call 1-800-EAT-SHIT” fade off into the distance.

But I guess some part of you must like it, because you get back on the bike and you ride.