Its Raining Sweet Potatoes

Getting a good slipstream is a luxury when you have been pedalling into a headwind for a few hours. The further East I pedal the more slipstreaming possibilities are presented.

I have had tractors, horse and carts, East Geman Trabbi’s with ‘mature’ drivers hunched over the steering wheel, road diggers and more slow Trabbi’s blowing big billows of pungent smoke out of the exhaust.

Today I was lucky to pick up a large lorry and stick on the back of it for a few kilometres between Novi Sad and Belgrade.  Not only did this dirty brute offer my legs a welcome break but also some protection from vehicles approaching too fast from behind.

I could see the line of dirty roundish objects along the back rim of the truck lightly bouncing with the rumble of the road about a meter above my head. Everything was going fine and the inevitable ‘big’  bump in the road appeared creating a shower with one of my favourite vegetables.  I was pleased to take no direct hits but sad to lose my ride.

I am not sure what the epitaph for a fatal collision with a potato might read.

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4 Responses to Its Raining Sweet Potatoes

  1. David says:

    Mashed??

  2. David says:

    Not at all. I saying your epitaph if you were in a fatal collision with a load of potatoes would read “he got mashed”

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