It's hot out there people, and no time for a slump. This is not the type of weather that forgives weakness. In these dog days, it's best to be at the top of your game moving forward. I feel like I am filling bags and the Mississippi is coming. Everyone applauds the effort, but they know the water will rise, and this will all be for naught.
The sickness is absolute. I am going on vacation, and all I can think about is how Big Worm will be lethal when I return. Juancho will be a malnourished shadow of his formal self, hardened by miles of lonely training. Big Jim Slade will say "Aw shucks" as he casually passes me on a hill. When I fall off the back of the ride, they will all wonder how I could have fallen so far, and so hard. Then they will continue their conversation, and ride as though I was never there.
All it takes is a couple colds, a surf trip, and you are me. Out in the hot sun, lagging from the herd, waiting for the big cats in the grass.
COME AND GET ME .... BASTARDS!