Lance’s smelly jockstrap
We got to the course and the race started. For the first lap we sat in the back and chatted. We came through the start/finish and crested the hill. Far off in the distance were two tiny specks. “Are those guys off the front?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “They’re gone. So much for this race.”
He looked at me funny. Without getting out of the saddle, he pushed the pedals harder. In a few seconds he had rocketed off the front, never getting out of the saddle or even appearing to exert himself. I watched him vanish up the road. He caught the breakaway, dropped it, and won the race so far head of the next finishers that it was as if he had been in an entirely different race.
[The line that really gets me is this one: "The world was going to look the way he wanted it to look." I think that can be true for us all.]