On Saturday morning at precisely 8:42 am my pal Brendan stepped gingerly out of the shadows beside the car to reveal the highly polished surface of the world's most dangerous cycling shoes. I'd prepared myself by wearing two pairs of sunglasses and a liberal coating of SPF 220, unfortunately the flight of sparrows torched by the first beam of plasma from his left foot wasn't so lucky.
While Brendan moved to put out the small fires started by the burning birds, I searched the car for dulling spray and methodically did a VSE for any exposed skin. We were adequately protected but I feared for anyone passing us on the road who happened to look down.
With the birds extinguished and wrapped in foil for a post ride snack, we set out from Luckys convinced it was just a matter of time before the military satellites spotted us and called in an air strike. For the next two hours we rode defensively, screaming at anyone or anything that came within 50 feet of us. When we stopped in Woodside Brendan emerged from Roberts Market with a half dozen eggs and a rash of bacon. You guessed it, he cooked the lot right there in the parking lot on the shoes. Again the surface is so shiny, clean up was a breeze.
Replenished by the breakfast, we headed back on eerily deserted streets that smelled faintly of fresh asphalt and barbecued beef.
If you've been following the comments on Velodramatic lately you'll know that Brendan always has a good story. I just wanted to make sure this one got into the public record with the accuracy it deserved.