MallyG
08-27-2004, 11:24 AM
'On Sunday morning, a cyclist gets up early, as he has
for so many Sunday morning rides, and softly slips
out of the bedroom.
He dresses quietly in the next room, grabs his helmet
and water bottles, and goes out to pump the tires. As
the garage door opens, he's confronted by an icy,
windswept rain.
He's ridden before in these conditions. He doesn't like
it, but when it's Sunday morning he never misses. He
ponders the dismal conditions and then retreats to the
kitchen to tune a small TV to the Weather Channel.
The forecast only sounds worse. This is one Sunday
when he just can't summon the determination.
With a sigh, he slips off his shoes, quietly returns to
the bedroom, undresses and slips back into bed.
There he cuddles up to his wife's back and whispers,
"The weather out there is terrible."
To which she sleepily replies, "Can you believe my
husband went riding in that crap?"
for so many Sunday morning rides, and softly slips
out of the bedroom.
He dresses quietly in the next room, grabs his helmet
and water bottles, and goes out to pump the tires. As
the garage door opens, he's confronted by an icy,
windswept rain.
He's ridden before in these conditions. He doesn't like
it, but when it's Sunday morning he never misses. He
ponders the dismal conditions and then retreats to the
kitchen to tune a small TV to the Weather Channel.
The forecast only sounds worse. This is one Sunday
when he just can't summon the determination.
With a sigh, he slips off his shoes, quietly returns to
the bedroom, undresses and slips back into bed.
There he cuddles up to his wife's back and whispers,
"The weather out there is terrible."
To which she sleepily replies, "Can you believe my
husband went riding in that crap?"