150 words about 81 miles
We headed west for a change of pace — more climbing, more rutted roads. Cracks that could swallow a tire. Pot holes in 10 shades of gray that make it nearly impossible to tell whether it’s a patch or a hole. We’re In a double pace line, trying to point out the biggest holes but it seems our hands are off the bars as much as on. You rapidly reach that tipping point where it’s fair to assume that everyone knows the road is rough and they’re on their own. I’m on the front when we hit that point, and within a few minutes a jagged hole slips down the middle of the pace line unmarked. The single word “Flat” gets passed up to the front and we begin to soft-pedal. So is it bad luck or bad karma that the guy who flatted seldom points out holes?