Public Indecency

Three things that I absolutely love are fast food, booze, and long bike rides.   Now, the first two go together like peas in a pod.   Try and add the first two with the last one and that’s when things start to get a little sticky, pun intended.   One thing I always try to do before a long ride is take a massive dump.  My ultimate goal is a shit so big that it feels like if you were to blow air over my asshole and it would sound like an empty beer bottle.    As for taking a piss, who cares?   You can do that wherever.   There are enough trees and bridges around to facilitate a quality urination situation.   Plus, standing outside pissing on a breezy sunny day just might be one of the untold joys of life.  It’s kind of like finally seeing the sun after a whole week of clouds and rain.   One of the horrible coincidences of cycling is that the weekends are made for long rides, but they are also made for drinking too.   I’m never one to pass up a beer, a slice, or a long ride.  So sit back and enjoy this little story.

Damn that looks tasty

After drinking a bunch of beers people tend to get a little hungry, I know I do.   Unfortunately, one of the few places around here that will deliver late on a Friday night is a nationwide chain pizza restaurant.   It’s not good by any stretch of the imagination, but when that pizza showed up it was a fucking feeding frenzy.   Well, Saturday morning rolls around and wouldn’t you know it, sunny and warm.   Gotta ride, son.   Just too nice of a day to pass up.   So I’m getting ready putting all my stuff on and a genius revelation hits me.   I should take some baby wipes along, just in case.   Goddamn, I’m fucking smart……until in my haste to get out the door and on the bike I left them sitting on the counter.   At mile 25 it felt like a clown was making balloon animals with my intestines.   At mile 50 it felt like two squirrels were fight fucking in my gut.   Then amazingly at mile 70 I started to feel better.   Come to find out that was the calm before the mile 75 storm which felt like an Italian soccer team was trying to kick its way out of me.

It definitely didn’t feel like that.

Now, let me expound for a second here.   Usually pulling up to piss is a piece of cake for a guy.   Yank down the front of your bib shorts, whip out your crank, let fly, shake, put back in, and get back on the bike.   Laying cable, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game.   Jersey has to come off, bib shorts have to come down almost all the way, and you hope you can find a tree to lean up against that doesn’t have rough bark.   That’s why when I set out for a long ride I always make sure I’m at least a couple miles from a convenience store, fast food joint, or any place that has public bathrooms.   Well, this baby wasn’t waiting for a McD’s toilet because it felt like a Siamese twin breech birth.   To the left and right of me I’m surrounded, but not by trees.   I’m fucking enveloped by pricker bushes and general bramble.   No where to go, it’s like a wall on each side.   Needless to say I’m starting to freak out a bit, and you all know what happens when you have to lay cable but can’t find a place to go, that’s right, it expedites the process.

As I start to come around a corner I notice a small break in the “wall” to my right.   The closer I get to it the more it looks like a dirt driveway.   But, jackpot, it’s the entrance to a corn field.   This is where it’s getting left.  As I’m rolling up to the field I’m already pulling off my jersey so I can get my bib shorts down quick.   I jump off the bike, throw my jersey down, unzip my saddlebag and look inside to grab the baby…wipes…fuckwherearethey?  SHIT!!!!!   I left them at home!!!   No time to spare what do I do?!?!

This was going to be one of those that you know 100% without a doubt has to be wiped.   So I start looking around for anything to use.   About 10 feet away from my bike I noticed a pile of what looked like old baby clothes and some toys that were illegally disposed of.   I kicked them around a bit, but decided to try my luck with the tractor that was parked in the field.   I ran as fast as I could to the tractor hoping to find napkins, tissues, even a rag.   Nothing.   Behind the tractor, maybe a tool box?   Nothing.   Something told me to look up, and there it was flapping in the breeze in all of its soft cloth glory; ol’ red, white, ‘n’ blue, the American flag.   Uh oh, t-minus 10 seconds till blast off.   I turned from the tractor quickly and bolted for the woods by my bike.

Man, I’ve got to tell you, I got there just in time.   The beer and pizza, the clown and his balloons, the squirrels, the Italian soccer team, and the breech Siamese twins all came out.   Holy shit did I feel better, like I could ride all day now.   That was just what I needed.   Alas, my moment of joy was quickly dashed away by the realization that I still had to wipe.   So I did it.   I reached right on back there and wiped away……with one of the shirts off the ground.

Yeah, that’s right.   I used a motherfucking shirt off the ground.   What do you think I am a fucking terrorist?   Wipe my ass with the American flag?   I’d punch a baby before I did that, and if you think I made the wrong choice go move to Iran.

P.S.  I put the flag back up on the tractor.


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