A month ago I felt certain I had lost my hold on the rope forever. This morning I found myself at Tom Brown Park, riding dusty single track. I need to say that I am grateful man, kiss the ground and beg forgiveness grateful to be back on my bike and riding. Nothing hurt more than it needed to, and I didn’t miss those 16 angry blocks of butter I sloughed off. Rock bottom is a hard place to be, but you can get a really good push-off from down there.
Thanks to everybody who didn’t give up on me.
Why would anyone give up on you, Juancho?
The butter was angry? Are you certain it wasn’t simply rancid? They smell the same.
See? Si. Riding bikes make it so much better.
I’m happy for you!
I don’t know Ms. Moon. I guess I must have given up on some people or else I wouldn’t probably think to say that.
And yes Reverend, the butter is rancid and angry, unclarified, and brown. It smells just like Cinnabon when it comes out of my pores.
I prefer my praise in the unmitigated, direct style of Nicol so the rest of you try to fall in line ok?
While you lost your hold on the rope, there were those of us who realized just one hand had slipped, and we kept holding on at the other end.