It was akin to a cumberland sausage in stature and trail furnish, with a crispy shell and gooey inner, a cadburys cream egg almost, right bang in the middle of the singletrack, visible only once detonated, waiting.
It'd been a great ride, a rare break in the post bertha era weather, sun filtering down through the trees, pleasant ache in the legs, dopamine flooding the brain from open taps, nearing the end of the trail, life was good.
Legs replenished from pork pies and banana chasers, I approached the corner at full tilt, like a steam train out of control heading for the buffers.
My ears rung with the sound of liquid draining out of a sink, a loud slurping, instantaneous, erupting noise, the front wheel carving its way through the heart of the grenade, glutted to the shell with liquid dog intestinal juices.
The volcano erupted and shards of turd fizzed in every direction, a plethora of brown particles garnishing the bike and rider in a moment of ultimate bewilderment. A heady fetid slop bouquet swelled the nasal cavity. Pedigree Chum droplets hung from the down tube like a christmas tree ornament, legs desecrated in the latest shade of pebbledash brown, tshirt embellished in chicken meat loaf, it was like being coated in chewed up spat out werthers originals
It only took 1.5 hours to remove it all from the bike, got into every crevice with the adhesiveness of helitape.
Considering the frontal impact nature of the collision a rivulet of starfish shrapnel even reached the jockey wheel