Well, at leat 'I' thought it was amusing.
Lower Manhattan, c. 1972
It was dark and sultry, getting vary late, close to midnight (why do they even bother calling nights dark?) The air was thick with humidity. Reflections of skyscraper lights were dancing in the rippling puddles as we pedaled through the quiet urban canyons after a mild twilight shower.
I was cranking an unremembered nondescript, maybe a SuperCourse. A college friend and my month-old P-13 were looking mighty fine pedaling beside me and I was enchanted and nearly mesmerized by the twinkle from the chrome-plated butted Bergs sparkling in the streetlights.
A rooster tail of NY streetwater was gently sprinkling the underside of my trademark Brooks Swallow and striping her back at the same time.
All of a sudden an ear-splitting shot rang out - echoing off the concrete and steel. The few cabs that were about on this almost-standstill night screeched away figuring there had been a gunshot.
It was really more woeful for me - for my original equipment Wolber Renforce had yielded to 120 lbs of air and I was left to ride thumpity-thump back to the car without a spare.
Larry Black