Farm to market road 45. Normally a peaceful stretch of hardtop, meandering gracefully through its rural setting like a tranquil, ashen river, became the arena for a horrible tragedy today when a long time feud between two disparate travelers finally reached a boiling point. Cyclists and joggers, forced to share the road by an overwhelming desire to indulge an irresistible lycra addiction, often find themselves embroiled in a battle for right of way ownership. “That’s how it starts, with a bicycle,” said Ned Flatfoot. ” Then you’ve got to sell it to purchase those awesome Nike compression shorts with the nano-fiber super cool crotch material. After that, you’re reduced to using the stationary bikes at the gym. Before you know it, all your closets are filled with lycra…spandex… and one pair of worn out running shoes. Then, the gym becomes too expensive, and “putting the rubber to the road” takes on a more somber meaning.”
Without a doubt, with the introduction of such emasculating automobiles as the Prius, Smart Cars, and those butt-ugly square boxes piloted by bloated hamsters, cyclists have emerged as the top dog of the highway. Whenever this apex predator encounters a jogger it’s never a pleasant ordeal. “Their junkies,” said Brad Bigring, avid cyclist. “Those dang joggers have allowed their Lycra habit to get out of control. No disipline. It won’t happen to me.”
Ned lost his best buddy today when he was surprised by cyclist Brad. This particular confrontation, however, could have been avoided. Ned explained, as the ache from his recent loss seemed to hit him in the gut. “I had my ear buds in, and I don’t how long we was followed. I, I feel somehow responsible.”
Ned and his little buddy turned unexpectedly.
“There was Brad. I should have looked first. We slammed into the pavement. If he’d been on a unicycle, Big L might have survived, but when that second tire hit me in the crotch, I knew ol’ Lefty was a goner.”
The story? A sad one. The Lesson? Ned’s words as he lay writhing in the gravel, covered in red ants on the shoulder of FM 45, perhaps echo the truest sentiment. “Man, those tires are hard!”
Anyone wishing to donate towards Ned’s prosthetic testicle/athletic cup fund can find Ned hammering a tiny cross into the side of FM 45 two miles south of Brownwood Texas.