On a long fatiguing tour through the Corsican mountains, we decided to take some rest at a place where a single olive tree, surrounded by a wooden bench, gave it's shadow. There were some tourists feeding a gang of half wild Corsican pigs with left over oranges... these sometimes rose, sometimes black - or rose with black hairy spots - Corsican pigs, who live in the woods during day and come back in the evening for chestnut dinner.
Surely for the first time they had oranges as an extra meal: the pigs had a good appetite. But it was not enough for all of them and they looked a sort of disappointed when the last orange was devoured. In that moment the smartest of them noticed (I noticed it some seconds later), that I wore orange-colored bicycle shoes and in an instant the whole gang rushed at me.
I seeked safety in flight and tried to hide behind the olive tree but the pigs followed me up inexorably. So I ran around the tree with a train of savage pigs behind me. I felt, I could escape, because I gained a small distance between me and the first formidable pig, until I was forced to recognice, that I reached the last (younger and slower) pig at the end of the running gang: I was encircled! My wife began to make noises like "kzzss, kzzss" to chase off the brutes, but they were too interested in my shoes (didn't smell like oranges). In my highest terror I began to bark like a dog. Corsican dogs don't bark, because it's too hot, but if they bark - exceptionally - it indicates great danger...
The pigs were confused for some seconds, and this was my chance: I hurried to reach my bicycle, jumped on it like the professionals do after a flat tire and slipped off uphill. It was by far the best mountain time trial I ever passed (but I was still out of breath, when my wife finally had closed the gap)
p.s.: what do you think, Will?