Which reminds me, for some reason, of an incident twenty or
thirty years ago, when I was following a couple of friends
who were on a September Century bicycle tour.
While I was waiting for a chance to pass a boy-scout troop
who were also on the ride, I noticed another car hovering
around the boys. Says I to me, I'll just keep on moseying
along behind these boys until that car goes away. This went
on for a couple of miles, then the driver rolled down his
passenger window and spoke to his son. I passed at the next
opportunity. Whereupon the father *also* resumed the
practice of going a few miles ahead to wait for his team.
That was about when I dreamed up the idea of buying magnetic
signs for support vehicles, but I never brought it up at a
club meeting.
About fifty miles after that, I found a really-good place to
get off the road to wait for my team and hand out water to
the unsupported riders who came along. When my guys
arrived, they got off their bikes, flopped on the ground,
and, after long rest, decided to load their bikes into my
car and go home. Whenever they described that ride, they
said "We died at the graveyard."
--
Joy Beeson
http://joybeeson.home.comcast.net/
http://roughsewing.home.comcast.net/
http://n3f.home.comcast.net/ -- Writers' Exchange
http://www.timeswrsw.com/craig/cam/ (local weather)
west of Fort Wayne, Indiana, U.S.A.
where
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