133 words about 32 miles and The Guest
It was a pickup group at the clock tower. Tim, Paul, a guy visiting from Atlanta named Bill, and Jim, who was recovering from a crash (“my collarbone is just cracked but I do have a couple broken ribs.”) We picked up Will as we came through The Neighborhoods. About 12 miles in, I was on the front and we had just crested a little rise. It was just enough of a hill that the pace line splintered out of order and behind me I could hear guys jokingly arguing about whose turn it was to pull. That’s when I hear Bill, the guy visiting from Atlanta, say, “Look guys, I’m just a guest in your house.” Such a great line. And one that only a strong rider could pull off. He did.