As everyone knows, the Dutch are, on average, the world's tallest folk, a seafaring folk with an affinity for orange. They're good at retaining water (check out their dykes), they invented a devastating move in soccer called the Cruyff, and, relevant to this blog and our blinkered existence, they are born and die on bicycles.
Last night at Greenbelt I got a huge leadout from Dennis. Dennis is from Groningen, I believe.
That's right, we have a Dutchman.
And he's not any old Dutchman. He's also a NASA scientist.
Don't bother cleaning out your shorts just yet, because here's another reason to lose control of your bodily functions: Dennis has a full Rabobank kit. He didn't buy it; it was given to him because he was a member of a Rabobank development team. The same Rabobank team that now leads the Giro d'Italia.
Go ahead now. Clean out your shorts. Hose yourself off. And don't feel bad...all of us on the team have soiled ourselves trying to keep up with the Dutch.
Oh wait, I forgot to mention something else (and ladies, if you haven't yet been gripped with fear you might want to stop reading at this point). We have a Dutchwoman. An Olympic diver, the kind that you see on TV. I'm not kidding. None of you will ever be as good at any sport as she was at her sport.
Sorry about that. I'm seriously done with the pronouncements that make you crap yourself. Go ahead. Clean your shorts out in earnest.
A Rough Likeness of the Bike Rack Dutch Contingent