Matt and Bob ...

Roughly half way in, Buddy hit something in the trail and went ass over teacups; I was riding right on his wheel and never really had a chance to react. I plowed into him and we tumbled to the ground together. As I lay on the ground, my shoulder hurt, and I noticed my shin had some blood, I started to move slowly, and felt okay. Then I smelled something that must have come from the deepest, darkest, foulest place in the world.

That's right, Buddy's ass. Just to pay me back for crashing into him, Buddy, whose flatulence was world class today, farted on me. So as I lay on the ground not sure if I'm really hurt yet or not, my olfactory senses are overloaded with the pungent smell of Buddy's ass. It was like I was sprayed by a damn skunk. Great. I guess that's what friends are for. I got up and we finished the ride, although I'm sore in some places I wasn't before crashing into Buddy. Up the road to Matt's house, we usually have some kind of silly sprint for the line. I started late, Matt and Buddy had half a bike on me, I was able to close up on Matt, and as I started to move up on Buddy, he cut over and cut me off, taking the sprint. Luckily for me the officials saw Buddy's move, and relegated him to the back of the field. There is nothing more pathetic than guys on single speeds sprinting up a hill. I guess that's the "lance factor" in action...