I love my family. And I love needling them. Particularly WellDigger.
See... poor Digger... he's just like my buddy Curt. He can smoke you all day on his new Witch's Broom of a bike... but if you get him just once... it sticks in his craw. In fact... I'll wager that he's thought about this very series of events in the last ten minutes... and he's still irritated by it.
See... Digger has that YZF purrin' boys. She is pure evil. As has been documented elsewhere... in contrast, I have been neglecting the Black King. Mostly the King was just sufferin' from a lack of attention. Over the last couple weeks... I remedied that.
Anyway... me and ol' digger decided to take 'em out for a ride saturday... and even though the King was runnin' a lot better I knew he was no match for Digger's bike. The tall gears may have made the difference on a huge straight away... but anything less than a mile and Digger would take me... unless....
We pulled out of the neighborhood and matriculated down Compton rd to the stop light. Uneventful... except... I was payin' attention.. and I had noticed that once we stopped, Digger didn't down shift. His front wheel was about a foot in front of mine.. but I knew if he didn't drop a couple... and I cought him off guard, I would dust him in a rather humiliating fashion.
So I listened.... and I watched.
no clicks. no downshifts.
Lights of the crossing street are yellow now. Has he noticed me watching them? still no down shift. GREEN MEANS GO!
I slammed the throttle wide-ass open and the King screamed. It didn't take Digger long to realize what was wrong... but it was way to late. All the power in the world won't save you from that mistake. I knew he'd be coming so at about 65 I let off the throttle.. and sat up in the saddle in my standard one-handed way-to-relaxed riding position. It would've been so unsatisfying for Digger to blow by me at that point that he just rode up and looked at me.
I know it bothered him... cause he was still bitching about it 2 hours later.
Even though he knows the rodes down there like the back of his hand... and he dusted me completely several times... I always got the feeling it was unsatisfying for him... probably because exept for that one time, I never really punched her. Hey... what's fun about running off from someone who ain't trying?
The old sayin' is Old age and treachery beats youth and skill. Well... I says..
What about youth and treachery?