One day, on a hot summer's training ride with a group of about fifty riders in north-central Florida, I had a punctured reas tire. The pace of teh ride was relatively easy, so I didn't ask anyone else to stop in order to help with the bridge back to the group. I pulled over under a shade tree and changed out the tube, got back one the bike, and started time-trialing to get back with the group.
Then things got wierd.
The earth started to rumble and shake. I had lived in florida for about a decade and had never heard of earthquakes on that sandbar of a state, so I was a little freaked out. I decided to up the tempo so I would reach the group a little quicker.
Then things got wierder.
The asphalt in front of me started to crack open, right down the yellow line in the middle of the road. I hugged the right side as close as I could, but the crack widened in front of me. From inside the crack, I could hear sounds the like of which I had never heard before. The guteral screams of a thousand lost sould poured from the abyss that had formed in the road.
Even wierder...
A beast sprung forth from the deepening pit. It had the form of a large black dog, but with three heads. It stood about six feet tall at the shoulder though it carried its heads close to the surface of the road in an ominous hunch. Fire flew from its mouths and rays of red light pierced the sky from its eyes. I dismounted, took my front wheel off to use as a shield, and drew my frame pump to use as a weapon. I must have been a formidable sight, for as quickly as the beast appeared it leapt back into the hole from which it came. The earth shook a bit more and the crack in the road sealed with a thunderous clap.
Relieved...
I put my bike back together and continued with my pace until I rejoined the group, riding gently along at 20 m.p.h.
For some reason, I can never get anyone to believe that story.