Saddle Sores, Torro, Fake Ass Cubans

I was riding today. Its hot as this is Jersey in July. You see a lotta stuff when your rambling through the different townships. Tiny little slices of America.

One gentleman caught my eye. Average schlubby white guy. I pass by dozens on any given day. When I’m riding and my chamois isn’t quite fitting right, my senses divert my attention from the imminent saddles sores and onto whatever else outwardly has value. When those seams find a weakness, no crotch is safe.

The guy in question was mowing his lawn. Nothing strange there. I looked at his face and saw that he was puffing on a cigar while doing his chore. I’ve seen this before but never really thought too much of it. Guys doing chores with cigars in tow. Ok…What was he trying to convey? He is still a force to be reckoned with? I’m a rebel with or without my Toro?

Regardless of reason, my ass still hurts and is now in intensive care, the guys lawn is mowed and everyone in the neighborhood knows that his lawn was mowed but on his terms…