Alright, so those girls in the convertible didn’t really come up to me and offer me a beer. In fact, I’ll admit the whole beer truck thing was false. It’s just that the real story kinda fell flat at that moment, so I figured I’d invent a better story.
What really happened (after the girls left) was this guy rides by fast on a fast-looking bike, and I say quickly, “hey, you got any air?” He turns around and comes back to me and we start talking as he gets out a CO2 cartridge. It comes out that I’m training for the Ironman, and he asks if I got in, and I say yes, and he says congratulations, and I say thanks, and he asks if I’m in the headhunters.
I let him operate his own CO2 cartridge inflation device on my tire, which all goes pretty smoothly, and I thank him profusely. I feel indebted to him, so I show an interest in the conversation he’s making. Turns out he knows one of the teachers at West, who did the Ironman last year; he himself is in the headhunters, but he didn’t get into the Ironman this year. I write his email down on the back of the Gum poem, and we part ways.
When I get home, the gnome is waiting for me in the driveway.