I was like, "Emelioooooo!"

I woke up last Monday morning to Scott's dad informing me that our team car, the Pontiac Vibe, had (another) flat tire. The culprit was a screw lodged deeply into tire. That morning I looked into heading down the road to our local Sears Automotive Center to get it patched, but then we decided to head to Scott's house since his brother is a very mechanically inclined fellow and he has all the tools to patch a tire all by himself (who woulda thought it's so simple?).

With a donut for a spare tire on the Vibe, Emile and I drove to Downingtown, PA - home of Scott and his brother - and after patching the tire, Scott, Emile, and I headed out on an easy coffee shop ride to spin out our legs from the previous day's race.

Very shortly after leaving the house, we started heading up a small overpass and a cyclist flipped directions about 100 feet in front of us so that both the three of us and this dude would be riding in the same direction. Upon cresting the overpass, despite traveling at a relatively slow pace, we passed the cyclist, finished descending the hill, and turned right onto another road. All three of us had glanced over at this guy as we passed and all three of us all had the "Oh my God" moment.

He soon joined us, at which point Scott emitted, "Holy $***! It really is you!" You see, in this case, you = LANCE ARMSTRONG. I've now turned into the celebrity gossip mill for eastern rural Pennsylvania and it turns out that his lady friend's parents live nearby, so he's visiting them. Her name is Tory Burch, designs shoes and handbags, and is reportedly worth a lot of money. I had the distinct priviledge of riding next to Lance for the next half hour, since Emile and Scott were chatting away in front of us.

Pretty much Lance and I are best buddies now. Here are some pictures including local-boy Scott showing him how to get back home to the 'rents.

Scott, Lance, Emile, and a mapLance, Emile, and Scott's behind.
Me, Lance, Emile, and the top of Scott's helmet.