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Thursday, July 29, 2004

"He allowed that he was a bit shaken up."

Today's installment of Bicycle Roadrash Theater 2000



Over the opening credits, a warrior appears over the horizon.

He takes on dangerous sections that would give veterans pause. He keeps a cramp-inducing pace on long uphill sections, panting hard, emitting low "hrrr, hrrr, hrrr" grunts with each stroke of the pedals, his shoulders bobbing up and down.


We watch the man-child clean up the competition.

Over an 18-mile ride that lasted an hour and 20 minutes, he burns about 1,200 calories and his heart rate reaches 168 beats per minute. That's nearly four times his resting rate and in the same range as Lance Armstrong's when the six-time Tour de France winner is pedaling hard.


Flashback; our hero and his team have hit hard times before.

On May 22, he lost traction on a dirt road, scraping his chin, upper lip, nose, right hand and both knees. The next day, a Secret Service agent riding behind him slammed onto the ground at high speed on a paved section, breaking his collarbone and three ribs.


Cut to present day; the trail chief has second thoughts.

Bush approaches steep downhills warily.


Fade in treacherous, shrieking music.

He hits the brakes and is steadily advancing downhill when his front tire loses its grip amid the loose rocks. His foot gets stuck in a strap that keeps it on the pedal.

In the blink of an eye, his rear wheel is in the air, and Bush is flying high over the handlebars, landing on his back with the bike on top of him.

He lies motionless for a few moments. The reporter hoists the bike off him just as his medics arrive to attend to him.


Wait a second ... a mouth-guard?

There are trees and a drop-off nearby, and the road is littered with rocks, but Bush, wearing a helmet and a mouth guard, is uninjured.


What next, talk of soft cushions and ointment?

But he is tentative descending the remainder of the downhill section, dabbing a foot on the ground as he goes.


Whooa .. this script badly needs a rewrite. Get me Milius.

In one meadow, cattle stare back at him as he rides a path littered with cow dung.



(c) BRT2K

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