Possum sighting: Dead with beads and "Team Roadkill" sticker on it. -- X-Philes World-Shipperville

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, [10] ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 17:53:42 07/29/01 Sun
Author: A Mysterious Sunburnt Stranger with Very Muscular Quads
Subject: Possum sighting: Dead with beads and "Team Roadkill" sticker on it.
In reply to: Rabid, trying to catch up again 's message, "MY QUEST FOR THE HEARTLAND OF BIKER AMERICA...IN IOWA -Day 57 another post from the road by Kande Rae" on 18:12:09 07/28/01 Sat

What could this mean? The leader of our group fell to her knees and cried out: "Nooooo! Not Billy!" Then she sobbed uncontrollably.

The rest of us stood around uncomfortably, kicking nervously at the ground and avoiding eye contact at all costs. Just how long would it last this time?

17 minutes, 29 seconds.

Our leader then stood, took the bandana from her jersey pocket, and blew her nose with a loud honk. After clipping the mirror to her sunglasses, she slipped on her gloves and fastened her helmet. Only then did she turn to address us. "Team Tough Butts, it's time to go to the river."

Somebody in back gasped. I know we were all thinking the same thing. We'd had nothing but hills and headwinds for the whole trip. We were all at or near our breaking points. And this weirdo freak wanted us to get back on those hard, painful bicycle seats and RIDE SOME MORE?

I confess, I strongly considered leading a revolt. However, I knew the root beer man was just a couple of miles up the road and this would be my last chance to savor that tasty 1919 keg root beer for at least a year. I also strongly suspected we were nearing the river, which would mean downhill. So I was the first to step up.

Fastening my helmet, I gave our leader the thumbs up and swung my leg over my bike. I tried not to wince as I sat, but doubt that I succeeded. Nevertheless, I had set the tone for the others. One by one, they all got on their bicycles and off we went.

"We're not stopping until we hit water!" was our battle cry as we rode bravely into Muscatine. People came out of their homes to see us ride by. We crossed the railroad tracks, then stopped just short of the river. We dipped our front tires in, then went to the bar across the street.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]