Two men were on the bike path in the woods down in Trueblood park. Both were looking off into the woods to the right, toward the Iowa river--one more intently then the other. As I passed by, the one standing next to the upside down bike in the middle of the path, holding a beer in his hand, was snapping at the other, "I didn't throw it; I'm the one trying to fix your @#$%^&* bike."
