02 April 2009

And to further my streak of whining and complaining, my bike wouldn't start this morning. I put on all my gear, went outside, uncovered the bike, got on, pushed the button, and my bike said, "Gug, gug, gug, guuuuugggghhhhhh." So I had to run inside, take off my gear, call my boss to let him know I would be late, run back outside, push the bike off to the side, get in the truck, start the truck, back it out of the driveway and park it across the street, get out and go back over to the bike, back the bike out away from the stairs and push it up into the front of the driveway, hook up the battery tender, cover the bike, go inside and get my backpack, go outside, go back inside to find my phone, go outside, go back inside to get my military ID from my motorcycle vest, go back outside and get in my truck and go to work. The bike ran fine last night. It seems that any time I'm in a hurry the bike won't start. It's like my own little Murphy's Law of Motorcycles. If I just want to cruise around the block a time or two or sit in the driveway and rev it because the neighbor was revving his new bike earlier the bike starts up like a champ, but if I want to go to work and be on time the stars had better be lined up perfectly and I need to make sure I do all the incantations and rituals before attempting to start it up.

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