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As it turned out there was a well known short track just up the road that left themain road and led to a little area set back from the main road so i pulled in and stopped.Turning the engine and lights off i put the interior light on and located acd to swap for the one i'd just listened to and put it in and switched the interior light back off.Sitting there waiting for the music to come on i thought i'd have a cigarettebefore i got on my way again so lit up and sat back smoking as i listened to the musicin the total darkness.As i sat there smoking i noticed thru the rear view mirror a car pull in on the track and stop about roughly 30 feet behind me before turning its lights off too.I finished my cigarette and threw it out remembering that this trackhad a slight rep as somewhere couples were known to go dogging at times althoughi'd never seen any thing on the rare occasions i'd been there.After another few minutes an interior light on the car behind flashed on and offthen there was a. Michael was startled; as every so often he heard his Mother utter a swear word, cursing his Father for being so insensitive. About half way through the salad, and a very nice; full-bodied, white wine; both Michael's Uncle and his Dad came in the front door laughing at something not privileged to the rest of the family. "Thank you for calling and letting me know that you were going to be late, Dear." Michael's Mother said to his Father sarcastically."I'm sorry, I lost track of the time." Oh good dinner is ready." Said his Uncle. "Let's eat brother, I'm starved."After that they ate in silence. At the close of dinner, Michael excused himself, wishing everyone a good evening, and left the house via the garden door. When he arrived in the hilltop hide away, Tomiko came out of the bathroom, wearing a pair of black satin panties, a t-shirt that said, "PARTY GIRL", and some knee high stockings. She placed her arms around him and said,"Michael, do you think that the maid that served us dinner.
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It was, in short, a miniature version of a two-lane highway. They had to pause here as a group of nine men in their twenties, all riding expensive looking road bikes, shot by at well over twenty miles an hour. They were grouped in a tight formation, the riders in the rear drafting off the riders in front of them. They all wore matching yellow bike uniforms, red and blue helmets, and were bent forward over their handlebars with serious, competitive expressions upon their faces."Who were they?" Desiree asked as the group disappeared over a rise in the trail."Some of those hard core bicyclists I mentioned," she said. "I call them Lance Armstrong wanna-be's. There are a lot of them out here. They ride in pairs, in groups of ten or more, sometimes individually. They all think they own the trail and that casual users like us shouldn't be out here because we slow them down." Do they ever give you any trouble?" No, they would have to slow down to give anyone trouble. And besides, I'm.

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