Flung

I hate computers. I'd written up a bit of a blurb about the Fling, but then my computer decided that it was hungry. So briefly, a good weekend away, the race was the most painful I've ever done, Deano kicked ass again, Col loaded up and did the same to me and Scotty, Andrea pit-bitched to her usual high level and I've just stopped aching now.

Col finds a spot on his bike that is not covered in dirt, tape, string or zip ties. Or he's stashing some of his 'special tablets' for later in the race.

Deano wonders if he takes another crap in his knicks, will anyone notice?, while me and Col attempt to qualify for the 2007 World Stare-Out Championships.

In a bizarre coincidence, our numbers were exactly the same as our ages in dog years.

There's those wankers again! (Was what I heard someone else say.) The guy in yellow is checking out Deano's arse... worth a look too.

Scotty hits the front at 10 metres, before fading to 237th after the first km. The guy in yellow tries to keep sight of deano's arse. He didn't. Worth a try though.

He may be a sick, twisted human, but Deano can ride a bike fast for a long time. And he has some weird mates.

Scotty realises 100m from the finish that he could've saved an hour or two if he rode with his hands on the bars.

Next year's poster boy? Maybe for this.

580 dog years + 110 kms x 3 = 0.