It was my worst baggy-shorts nightmare.
I was finishing up an absolutely outstanding tandem ride with my studly stoker-spouse. We'd rolled out into perfect conditions: 70s, sunny, no wind. Rode the Greenbelt Trail into West Des Moines, grabbed some lunch, startled a fuzzy-antlered young buck on the trail, saw my very first Rohloff hub gear in the wild (didn't have a chance to chat with the owner about it, though) and stopped at the bike shop on the way back. Really, an idyllic way for this bike geek to start his long weekend.
Then, we started the "descent" into home. For locals, that's eastbound Ingersoll between 42nd and 35th. Not exactly a "stop to tuck newspapers into the front of your jersey first" kind of downhill, but on the tandem, those gradual downward slopes can really build some momentum. So we let 'er rip.
And just about the time we hit terminal velocity, some kind of insect flew up the flapping leg opening of my otherwise-wonderful J&G Touring Shorts, panicked, and instead of quietly going out the way he came in, stung me on the right butt cheek. Seriously. I'm all for adding some excitement to a ride, but frantically swatting at one's arse with one hand while trying to control a loaded tandem going Mach 1 with the other hand is not my idea of a good time.
The captain managed to keep the ship on course without a FDGB (Fall Down Go Boom), and the sting feels fine after a bit of calamine lotion, but I must grudgingly admit that Lycra does have its benefits in situations like this. If that little beastie had gone left instead of right and found my man-junk instead of my ample posterior, I'd have turned right back around for the bike shop and bought a whole new skin-tight wardrobe right then and there.