Not a rant.
A few years ago I was using a "family" pickup truck to get some firewood at a cousin's house.
The truck is parked about 25 feet down the driveway, and we are using a front end loader to move the wood from the back to the truck.
Meanwhile, that afternoon, there is a county bicycle race event going on, and they will be passing in front of my cousin's house. I was hoping to get in and out before getting trapped there, but alas and alack, it was not to be.
So, bowing to the inevitable, we crank up the music, the bbq and drag out some beer and some chairs and we are sitting out front with the intent of cheering people on.
Now, the race course/road makes a left turn about 50 feet further on from my cousin's driveway so we have a great corner on the course from which to spectate.
What will become important a little later, in actual fact, my cousin's drive is wider and in better shape than the road. Confusion and consternation to follow.
The first group of "pro" riders goes past, and we cheer and wave and toast the intrepid cyclists and anxiously await the next group of riders with baited breath.
Sure enough, pedaling furiously, (we find out later) to make up for a multi-bike pile up at the start line, the next group of 4 come roaring over the crest of the hill.
And turn into my cousin's driveway.
The first bike ricochets off the side of the pickup, and the next three go head on into the front end loader. We jump up to go see if everyone is OK, and a 5th bike comes into the yard and crashes into the chairs we have just vacated, except for cousin Donna. It's OK. With the paint transfer from the bike, the truck is in better shape than it was before.
There must be something in Spandex, maybe it restricts the flow of blood to the brain, and other parts of the body, because somehow it's our fault that people are coming into the yard and crashing into, chairs, cars, heavy equipment, and my cousin Donna, though I suspect that was the best action she had had in years.
We had local, county and state police. We had EMTs and ambulances. We had town, county and racing federation people all over the yard.
Everyone is shouting and waving arms and accusations are flying thick and fast. I decide to back out of the fracas and protect the cooler with the beer. Someone has to do it.
Eventually, everyone calms down and is taken away to be treated, or picked up by their team cars, or just sits and has a beer. All is as nature intended.
Except for Donna. I think she is still pining for the guy in spandex, that knocked her axx over tea kettle.
They changed the race route the next year.