The Adventures of Campy Girlymann

It was the thugs from the guard house. Being fooled by Campy must have really pissed them off. They came running from their post full speed. Girlymann glanced at the gate, not too far from them but they were not only closed but a thick chain made the final clasp.

"Campy! Look in your jersey!"

It was Pepe, the wash maid's boyfriend and Campy felt his pockets in the back of the jersey and found a route slip leading from the estate into the hunting woods in back. "Belgian!"

"Yes,"

"I'll take the De Rosa. Follow me."

The Belgian mounted the Pogliaghi Campy had rode in on as Girlymann took hold of his bike.

It was as if an electric current went through him. An energy of man melding with machine and Campy savored it like hot sex on a warm summer night. They both took off just quick enough to miss the working end of a shovel destined for their heads. 

Ah, Campy thought, to be riding the De Rosa once again, life was good and now he was out to right a wrong on an unknown road. What could be better? He made sure in his exuberance that the Belgian was safely tucked in his draft.

"Don't loose the draft Belgian." Campy roared behind him.

"You carried me to victory Campy, I know your ass well."

They both smiled, griped their bars with one hand and took a quick check of what they had. Energy bars, small water but when they checked the bottles fastened to the bikes they discovered them full. Someone had taken care of them. They felt good. Felt like they had a fighting chance until a bullet whizzed by.

To be continued....