...but my feet are stuck to my bike and the restaurant has a dress code
Tim was trying again, for about the tenth time, to navigate a beautifully placed pile of logs. He would take a run at them from about fifteen feet back, get to the point that the peak of the pile was placed perfectly between his wheels and then he would fall. His body stuck to his legs, his legs stuck to his feet, his feet stuck to his shoes, his shoes stuck to his pedals and his pedals stuck to his bike. He’d fall the same way ever time. Once he reached the top of the logs he’d stall and all forward motion would cease. He’d balance there for a second or two with a look of stern determination on his face, and then, like a sinking ship, he’d start listing to one side."