Well, this happens sometimes when you're on a long ride . . . there's a need to steal a mirror, as Vonnegut might have put it. And so there I was, off on one of the remotest roads, off in a pulloff, hadn't seen a car for miles, and of course just as I step off into the weeds and, well, you know -- the road turns into tourist central. I half expected a Gray Line bus to pull up. At least I wasn't as bad as Bob Roll during a particular Tour de France -- in fact, if I ever write a book of my outdoor experiences, I intend to title it in reference to something he has done and I have not: "I've Never Taken a Dump on a Frenchman's Lawn."
Oh, yeah, that'd sell. I'll grant you, it's a distant second to "My Lead Dog Was a Lesbian."
Leave a comment