The Adventures Of Campy Girlymann Continues

Campy picked up speed fast. Tucked into something resembling a cannon ball mounted on a bike, he shot down the mountain side with the Belgian tucked right behind him. The vortex was so strong that the Belgian had to brake slightly to keep from hitting Campy's rear wheel. The sound of the wind was a roar in their ears with Girlymann's golden locks of hair streaming in their mad decent.

They quickly passed the riders in back but now they were needling through the main pack. Riders could hear the rush of wind, feel the rumble of Campy's bike as he approached, and when the pack riders were passed it sounded as if a runaway train just roared by.

Girlymann leaned into a sharp curve, the wheels of his bike clung to the thin line he set to make the curve, with just an ass hair left before his bike would have plunged over the side, Campy pulled them out and on to the next curve. Right and left,  riders were being passed, and when Campy didn't have room he created it by grabbing the back of the rider's jersey, lifting them and the bike and placing the astonished rider a safe distance away so the Girlymann Express could speed on.

The Belgain sweated bullets, shit in his shorts but he stayed tucked in the draft of Campy Girlymann's mad descent down the mountain side. Their speed was over eighty miles an hour, at times reaching near a hundred yet Campy would not touch the brakes. They were a whirl of bike and men in their quest to get to the front rider.

And soon it happened, Campy had passed them all except one. That one had the yellow jersey and Girlymann and the Belgian were gaining fast. Campy raised up to catch wind on his massive chest, like a parachute on a space shuttle, Campy began to slow as he approached the smug Frenchman.

As Campy and the Belgian pulled  up,  Jean Claude's jaw dropped.

"Bonjour, dick-wad!"  said Campy and gave Jean Claude the finger.

Once the Frenchman got over the shock of seeing Campy with the Belgian on his  wheel, he gave a weak smile and tried to get behind the two of them to draft as well but Campy was having none of that. With the motion of a snake whipping its tail, Campy swerved right and left to prevent Jean Claude from catching his draft. The Frenchman was fierce and kept tagging them like a mosquito after dinner.

Up ahead, Girlymann could see a small climb approaching, he yelled to the Belgian that when he got out of saddle, to give it everything he had to stay on. The Belgian's eyes popped when he saw Girlymann's ass raise from the saddle and his Titian legs mash the cranks. Like a launching Cruise missile,  Campy took off up the hill and left the Frenchman in his wake, broken and shattered by the side of the road. Jean Claude had given his all and with nothing left in his legs, wobbled on the bike running himself into a ditch along the road.

to be continued.,,