Busted Grill

I should have taken a boat to Ocala, it rained so hard.

After a charming night’s stay at the Ingall’s family plantation, Pembleton Paddock, I woke refreshed and ready for a tour of the San Felasco course, or a run through Santos, or heck- a lap of Razorback. I sipped my coffe and wondered at Pa’s ambition, why would anyone be washing the windows so early? Pa shuffled down the hallway behind me and I realized it was rain sheeting against the house, lots and lots of rain. If I had known this was going to happen I would have stayed up later, and enjoyed a couple more tall blondes with my hosts.

Driving down I-75, I ran the periscope up just in time to catch the turn to Mel’s (Not his real name) folk’s place. After listening to his mother explain that he was, and will always be lazy, we loaded up for the wet ride home.

3 hours later, we pulled into Tom Brown Park, figuring to get a ride in somehow this day. The rain had abated, although the ground was soggy, and we quickly changed in the chill air.

100 yards, and 2 minutes later, Mel was on the ground- a bloody mess. At the peak of a rise, he bobbled, fell, and took a sharp handlebar end to the face, shaving the enamel off his front tooth, puncturing the part where the Copenhagen goes on the outside, and biting pretty deeply through his lip on the inside. Well, fuck. That’s no way to treat a guest.

Resigned to a long evening in the emergency room, we headed for the truck. By the time we got there and he checked out the furiously dripping wound, he had come to a decision. Ride!

I must say, a better example of true grit would be hard to find. We rode the Cadillac trail out to the lake and back. His chin was stained with varying rivulets of blood, from dried brown to freshly red. The white top tube of Mystery’s loaned bike was speckled strawberry red.

$197 and 3 hours later at the Patient’s First clinic he was stitched up and sufficiently medicated to make an evening of it.

Nice work, nice work indeed. It was a grim reminder that this pastime of ours, this “recreational” activity, carries consequences not experienced during a round of golf.


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