squirrel in back alley, fur plastered to pavement by rain was a bad omen,
then Michael lost his contact up his
eyeball over breakfast. After watching the sockeye pick their way up
the current at Chittendon Locks we took turns rolling down the grassy steppe.
Michael was the first to roll today and the last after glugalugging the last
of the second bottle of Bigfoot Chardonnay. He strapped helmet in place and
charged down steep and bumpy Gasworks hill to see the dancers, resulting
in a multiple somersault endo which dug up 15 yards of divots with Sarah's
recently refurbushed Trek 330 and caused an eyewitness kid to exclaim it
was better than the X Games. He cracked the helmet and pretzeled the rear
wheel but lived to tell about it over Fat Tire pitchers at the Pacific Inn
and managed not to mangle the mango in his pocket.