Sunday Bloody Sunday

This year, like every year before it there will be one Sunday where you can mostly remember, from every year what you did. This is the Argus Sunday, the cycle tour. I am such an avid fan of cyclists, I love them, bless.

Kidding. I hate them, absolutely despise (people with cars will agree). They have this way of being worse at road ownership than BMW drivers (Renowned for egotistical driving). This is how it goes, you put out your stupid cyclist hand to turn and all traffic will stop, don’t worry about the person who just almost knocked you off your bike, swear at them and  peddle off into the sunset. Or why don’t you bunch off assholes all ride together and see how many of you it takes to take up the entire road, so no one can safely get past you… single file buddy!

Breathe… count to ten. And now! They have their annual asshole meeting,  and they flood the city with their evil bikes, and take all the space at the Vida in Camps bay! Go home! Sunday comes and Cape town is constipated, you can not go anywhere, because the entire city all around the big ass mountain is squared off for them, perfect. Plus to add insult to injury, no Olympia Sunday… Can you see me, weight distributed to one leg, standing tapping my foot.

So for this year’s great escape, I think I’ll head in the general direction of the winelands. Go ride out the heat wave in a pool between the vines, before I knock a wanna be lance off his horse.