I love it when this happens: I'm riding my bent, stopped at a light. A group of team-kit roadies pulls next to me. I'm dressed in a plain white T shirt, khaki slacks and penny loafers. I hork up a loogie the size of a hens egg and spit it at their feet, then I motion to one of the area's hills and make the Morpheus come and get me taunt. We charge up the hill, me on one side and their well-organized paceline on the other. As I crest the hill, I turn my head and give them The Look as they finally arrive, dazed and demoralized...
The only problem is that it hasn't happened yet, but when it does, dang do I intend to enjoy it.
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Momento mori, amor fati.