I am one of President George W. Bush's gardeners. Mr. George likes to talk to me.

Saturday, July 17, 2004


So much has happened over the weekend. Because I am tired after riding in the Pyrenees, I have time only to describe only the most important incidents.
Incident 1 
To begin stage 12, the riders and I burst from the starting line to get a position near the front of the pack.  I heard a crinkling sound directly behind me. Thinking nothing of it, I continued my burst.  All of a sudden, my bicycle stopped, while my body continued its forward momentum. My thighs struck the handlebars, causing me to do three or four flips in the air. I landed on top of my head and slid along the road for a few seconds before landing on my back with a thud. I looked behind me and saw a chain attached to a pole near the starting line. May God damn that Daag Haus. It's one thing to put super glue on the inside of my helmet. Or to insert grape jelly into my tires before a mountain stage. But to attach a chain to my bike just before the start of the race takes these practical jokes to an unbearable level.
I rode angry.
Incident 2
Daag Haus and I got off our bikes and traded blows. We threw long, loping punches that did little more than scrape our knuckles on each other's helmets. When the fight was over, we each stood bent over, gasping for air and insulting each other. 
Incident 3
Mr. Johan notified me that I had been traded from Team U.S. Postal to Rabobank.  He didn't bother to thank me or offer words of encouragement. As I got off the team bus, Mr. Lance and the other posties refused to look at me or respond to my well wishes. I had given my all to help Mr. Lance win his sixth consecutive tour, and now my effort is for naught. Tomorrow I must compete against Mr. Lance and my former teammates. It is a bitter end to a bitter day.


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