Puff, puff, pant

Round, and round, and round… I gulp in some more air greedily, picking up a little more speed.

Stupid bicycle.  I select a lower gear, angling myself for a decent line up the next hill, “Where in the word ‘down-hill’ does it mention going up hills?” I ask the quickly receding back ahead of me, a laugh being the only response.

Peddle, peddle, lower gear… “Gah, forget it, may your hide be forever infested with lice, and your arms too short to scratch. Damn you to having stumpy, little T-rex arms.” Hopping off the self-propelled torture device, I slip and begin climbing up the steep incline, all the while expanding my vocabulary of insults under my breath.

“Hah! I’d like to know – honestly – if somewhere within your bloodline, an elder of your family procreated with a swine,” I grumble under my breath. “We’ve only gone 30km, stop bitching and get going.” He immediately sets of with my glower burning holes between his shoulderblades. Until I look around, no more hills, just flat land or down. excellent, I think, jumping on to my bike and look at the downward side of the hill, picking the best line.

With that I dive into the rest of the ride.

After parting ways with Ryan, a crazy person that demands cycling up stupid slopes instead of pushing or using something with an engine and cycling buddy, all I could think of was hot, steamy jets of water and a cup of cocoa. Mmmm, cocoa.

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