This side of perfect

I keep forgetting it’s the weekend.

I keep forgetting it’s a holiday.

I keep forgetting it’s my birthday.

The days aren’t important. Now that my foot is better and I am walking, I am simply more cognizant of the fact that I can’t fly. I feel rather grounded, but I’m excited for a few things. 145 in 5th; 2 up. Coastlines. And a good ride through the mountains.

I’m stuck at the intersection of Writer’s block and Atrophy. So, I’m going for a ride tomorrow, WAY too damn early, and going to spend some time with friends I haven’t met yet.

In between now and when i finish the crash story, I hope you’ll entertain yourself with thoughts of riding through the national parks on 750cc’s of inline 4 whoopass. Have a butcher’s:

Map of Ride