“Yeah. Let’s fly to Florence and pedal to the village. It will be, I dunno, five hundred miles or so.”
A former anti-dentite opens up his mouth and mind
I do this ride for the cruel but timely reminder of just how doughy I am heading into warmer months.
There are people who want to get as drunk as I had the night before and it’s my job to get them there.
The DJ hadn’t even started, so I thought I had some time before amateur hour began. I was wrong.