The throwing of the bocce balls is a right of passage for any young meat who is about to embark on the great journey away from home and into college. A few days ago we played our last bocce match of the year.
The blank expression on the big ones face is due to total boccical domination. As with any test of ball throwing strength and dexterity, I was the eventual victor. Or I would have been had the opposing players not lost heart and given up when I started to get into my rhythm.
|From Drop Box|
Our style of bocce is differs greatly from that of an old Italian man. It's comparable to the thrills and danger of mountain bike racing if 'normal' bocce was road racing (this is still a cycle blog. if you want something else, please, go read javascoots.)
We started on a flat, regulation court, but soon decided that the smoothness of the field did not provide enough challenge for the montana. So the little white ball was thrown to the hills, and the larger colored balls soon followed. The little ball was struck by the big, then thrown back out, over and over, for what seemed like days. Finally, when my arm was beginning to tire, and my aim was wavering, the short attention span of my friends became my greatest ally, and I was crowned king of the bocce course. But it was a hollow victory, because the greatest meat of them all was not in attendance:
|From My Pictures|
And I know everyone was loosing sleep over my dilemma last night, but I fixed the problem. I went with option b/2:
|From Drop Box|
I did give the Rampage a chance on the back before deciding I needed to make a purchase, but just as I remembered, it was big, heavy, and slow. I still love it as a front tire, and if I wasn't racing I would use it as a back as well. But for my purposes, it's just too much beef. So I should be good to go on Sunday.