Yeah, so what the fuck, right?
I know. Haven’t posted in like, a month. I didn’t want to interrupt the killer Tour coverage going on here at DC, and since I gave no fuck at all about this year’s tour, felt right to keep my nose out of it. To fill my time, I’ve been pipe-dreaming about doing a motorcycle tour through Europe.
That’s a long-ass pipe I’ve been dreaming from.
If you have done it, or anything like it, I’d appreciate tips as to how to start planning. You know, the usual stuff: where to rent a motorcycle, what sites to see, what booze to drink, what wacked out drug cigarettes I should smoke. I’ll tote my fat ass across a continent by my lonesome, if you’ll all be kind enough to help me figure it all out.
The other reason I’ve been off the site for the most part is because I’ve been off the bike for the most part. The mountain bike is destroying my back lately, so I’ve been on the road bike. Had a hell of a ride the other day: was about two seconds into the ride when I found myself pressed against the backside of a Honda Element.
That’s right: my dumb ass rode straight into the back of a car. The funny thing is, I was distracted by a cardboard cutout of the three stooges. I’ve seen this particular cutout about a billion times, as it sits in a storefront just down the street from my house. I couldn’t tell you why it captivated me this time, but I actually turned my head to look at it as I passed. Next thing I know, I’m face first into a rear windshield.
Riding the road bike is hell when the trails are tacky, and they’ve been tacky as hell lately. Fuck me, right?
Anyway, so I’m really pissy because I’m off the mountain bike, I’ve been stuck at square fucking one on my latest book for almost a year, and my wife and I are moving from the desert here in Arizona to Colorado Springs in another month, which means I don’t get trails out my back door anymore or the ease and convenience of calling up a friend for a last minute trip to the trails. Boo hoo, I know. Moving from one beautiful place to another. I should harden the fuck up. That there is the problem, though: seem to have lost my hardness lately. Everything seems to suck, except for the ride. Figures: I spent two years hating the ride because I was burnt out from wrenching in shops. Now I love that shit again and I’m uprooting.
Probably good for my cranky ass anyway. Maybe I can hit the springs and be Bobby Bigwheels at the local shop. Show ’em all how we Flagstaffarians roll on the knobbies. Probably not. Shit. It’s all just another ending, another beginning. You hit the trail head, climb your ass off, and before you know it, the descent has begun and ended all in one fell swoop. Back at the trail head. Square one.
So I’ll keep on pipe-dreaming. Maybe I’ll find it all laid out for me in the Springs among the crazy Christians and the pointy Pikes Peak. Maybe it’ll be there on a platter for me. Stranger things have happened, right? Couldn’t be any worse than my face squished against the rear windshield of a Honda Element…by