There weren’t too many people at the Fish near the top of the first game today. Understandable, but unfortunate since the game was awesome and the weather was perfect. Anyway, Tim and I were in the stands and one of the sports marketing reps asked us if we were going to be there for a while; we responded “yeah.” She asked us if we wanted to do a tricycle race.
The gauntlet was cast. Tim and I, friends for years, were now bitter foes. As we walked out onto the warning track by the Michigan dugout, the adrenaline started pumping, and I could feel my heartbeating in my ears. We mounted our ignoble steeds and prepared for what could only be a death race.
There was no play by play announcing for this race; it would have only served to take away from the pureness of the act, but if there was, it would sound a little something like this:
AAAAAAAND they’re off!
…Well, one of them is off. Paul is still sitting at the starting line spinning his front wheel.
Tim is nearing the turn as Timmy Kalz gives Paul some obviously sage advice as he gets 20 pounds of aluminum and rubber to stop spinning and start moving.
Paul is pedaling furiously, finding his rhythm and a first wind! He’s making up ground at a ferocious pace. He gets to the turn with a nice line, and HE’S AROUND. HE’S COMING DOWN THE STRETCH *cough*Tim crosses the finish line*cough* AND HE’S STILL GAINING GROUND ON TIM. THIS COMPETITOR HAS A HEART OF A LION.
Paul leans in and CROSSES THE FINISH LINE and crashes into Tim’s tricycle, which luckily Tim had already dismounted. In fact, Tim is already back in his seat. Damn, that Paul kid is slow.
In case that didn’t do it for you, here are some pictures (note: there wasn’t a professional photographer for this; lame, right?):