So Saturday night, we were headed down to San Jose, on 280, on our dirtbikes. The plan was to crash at my folks' house so the ride to Metcalf in the morning would just be 15 miles. We were going to meet Charles at 8:30 in the parking lot. Right.
Wrong. Somewhere between Magdalena and Foothill, Paul toasted his motor. I mean, he didn't do anything, it just happened. Well, anyway, fortunately I have some incredible friends.
Charles once again showed me how lucky I am to have such great friends.
And since I would only be in the way hanging around Paul's garage on Sunday while he tore down the XR, I proceeded to San Jose, and then Metcalf in the morning.
Then all the crashing and all that.
Who doesn't love a good bruise?
Yeah, I need to replace my elbo guards, which are AWOL.
And Paul, well, he has bigger problems. The bike is TOAST, and surely won't be back up by next weekend for the Sheetiron, if at all. So what to do... working on creative solutions now, and I'm hoping this won't just end with me crying about missing the Sheetiron again. I have faith. Hmph.