Descent Du Paul - Writing Contest Winners 
 
 

March 31st started out a beautiful sunny day. So the group Bob, Mary, Paul, Nuclear Dan, Humberto, and Bruce (a newbie) got together to ride Silence of the Lambs. This would be our first time out with Bob and Mary since their return from Florida. It began like most of these rides, with Bob passing everyone on the down hills and then him being passed by everybody on the up hills. Mary of course cannot let anyone climb ahead of her on the hills, or so she believes.

The ride started with our fearless leader Paul pulling the pack up Route 32. The ride continued with Bob again passing everyone on the downhill, Mary and Humberto sucking obligatory wheel. The group moved forward like a pack of hungry hyenas waiting to find the next kill. Mary couldn't wait to show us how her training in the flat state of Florida had paid off. She said, "I am going to make you all wish you had stayed home." Boy was she right.

We were going so slow I felt as if I was doing a track stand! That had to change, Paul started to pull, then me, and I think Nuclear Dan pulled after that.

Finally we made it to Heart Attack Hill. This is where Mary and I devised a plan to box Paul in so that Mary could take the hill. The reward for me was to be permission to ride behind Mary and not have to pull her for the entire ride. All those miles in Florida had tightened up Mary's ass, so the decision I had to make, ride behind Mary or ride behind Bob, was pretty easy since the athletic taughtness of Mary's rear was not all that hard to look at. However, I chose Mary mainly because ultimately I could not see around Bob's ass!

We successfully boxed Paul in; but of course, Humberto took off never to be seen again—see ya tough guy. I crested Heart Attack Hill and coasted down the back side. Paul and Mary waited for Bob. He must have stopped off for a pee break, I guess. As we rolled up to Bull Corner, Paul still had a little fire in his chamois, from our little blocking stunt. Or could be that burn may just have been from his Assos chamois cream, or maybe something he picked up while in Jamaica! [He had just gotten back from vacation.] Paul, always busting Mary's chops, was devising a covert operation in that little (eensy weensy teeny weeny) mind of his! I will tell you the outcome of that shortly.

As the group moved forward, it was getting more challenging. We were coming to our next short climb with Mary in front of Paul, and me to the left of them both. We looked like a flock of geese flying south for the winter. Then it happened.

Paul took off like a top fuel dragster at the sight of green. I stood up and accelerated like a soap box derby car at the top of the hill. Mary fired out of the gate like her supercharged Subaru WRX—which by the way is faster than Paul's Nissan, or so the story goes.

Paul was gaining on Mary and passing like a drunk driver on the right. Literally passing on the right, idiot! The thing that seemed to slip Paul's mind was that he was riding a road bike, which means gravel, sand, and crevasses do not mix, so the inevitable happened. His front wheel was sucked off the road in a deep crevasse large enough to swallow even the largest rider, probably even Bob.

Paul went down as if the Grim Reaper had reached from the core of the earth and said, "HEY PECKERHEAD, YOU ARE COMING WITH ME!"

The funny thing was Paul never let go of his bike, as if his training wheels were going to keep him from meeting mother earth. Damn, was he ever mistaken. First his fist slammed into the pavement, kinda like Evander Holyfield's fist slamming into a FACE! Next it was his shoulder then his back followed by his (larger than average) melon. This all happened right in front of me.

I quickly veered to the left narrowly missing Paul's head with my chain rings and foot. Mary, having heard all the carnage behind her, abruptly slammed on her brakes. I guess she has never watched NASCAR. You are supposed to accelerate not brake Mary!

Nuclear Dan, with no time to swerve or brake, slammed into Paul's limp body which was all over the the ground like road kill which to all appearances he was soon to become. I was still behind Mary who for some reason continued to ratchet down on her brakes. I had no time to react. So despite her Florida trained rear-end being less than repulsive, I ended up seeing much more of Mary's ASS than I would like to remember, and more than I will report.

As I pulled my head back into the daylight to see what had just happened to our beloved fearless leader, I noticed he was bleeding. His knuckles looked a piece of raw prime rib. Now I know what you are thinking, "Paul Latrine fell." NO WAY! He merely dropped to the ground while protecting his bike.

Let me be the first to tell you that I watched all these things unfold, and it was ever such a spectacular sight to see. Paul's knee and knuckles looked as if they just got off a Las Vegas stage with one of Siegfried and Roy's tigers. Pieces of Dan's cleat were on the road. My face was covered in Black Widow dung, and Paul was crying like a baby about his skinned knee.

As we collected ourselves, another rider who lived around the corner was gracious enough to give our little (eensy weensy teeny weeny) Napoleon a ride to the hospital.

So I guess the lesson learned that day takes me back 16 yrs to that 6th grade classroom, "Horse Play Can Result in Serious Injury." Especially when playing with a horse's ass.