Dear cartilage, if hard was the loss of my longed Derbi, no less traumatic was the death of my bike .
ran, and pardon the expression, the year 92. I was in the final year of school. One afternoon language class we get our hated teacher, Beelzebub waiting with open claws, and tells us (thought so on) small rats and vermin (off thought so), this afternoon we will make a exercise, try to do an essay or a drawing motto "From drug anything, I have many things to do" ". After several seconds, choosing from touching the ball or go do something I decided to do an essay.
There are two things that few people can beat me : One in imagination and the other to cut off nails cojonera flies using a lawn mower.
Two days later I learned that writing was for a contest and it was up to regional level. The second surprise was that I won . And the third that gave me a crappy bike. How wrong I was to think that the gift of second oiler, was better than mine.
I still remember my father's face: "Dad I have to say algoowefjffvberb" my mother "Mariano loose the kid's neck seems that is not bad" , "I won a regional writing contest" .
was awesome to see my father do analysis of the note of the competition, seemed the Grisom: X-ray diffraction, carbon-14, elecrtoforésis hair ...
On the subject of writing I know it was cheating, I had an advantage, it's like Superman participate test in the Olympic weightlifting, or as if Farruquito participate in a test of Formula 1 .
What a great day when I got my Orbea , especially for my father "from here how you're not going to bike home !, do you think we can really get the 4 and the bike in the 127 seat ?, do not make me choose between you and the bike huh? " .
Well if we go to spend the day at the beach the 4 with fridge, table, saddle, parasol, Tupperware, creams, towels and pa Ropice a bike could change us into ... and came.
And thankfully, those increases to Fuensanta and Lost Valley to the road singing with Pelops in our mountain bikes. Less happy was when a bus passes you and due to air currents we moved more into the bike that a pea in the mouth of an old man. Or the time I broke the rear brake cable down the Lost Valley 60 km / h, I "I heard this click, I hope it is my meniscus and not the rear brake cable to break because if I'm not going to finish top in the bar that is on the curve" . Because of my nerves, my pulse with the front brake and a network of firefighters could stop without dying. Well
appreciated hearing a hug tod @ s and until we read.
Signed .: Black-poisoned.
0 comments:
Post a Comment