Can’t slow down

I’ve been thinking lately that I had better slow down a bit; you know, I’m not getting any younger, and the streets are getting scarier. Even thought about selling the two-wheeled CB500X, and spend more time with the dogs in the sidecar; three contact patches to the ground somehow seems safer than two.
I even went as far as to take the Charkstream 2.0 off of the
500, even though MacDuff has such a good time back there when we lean together into the curves. He’s almost as good of a rider as Charlie, and has years ahead of him. But the fact is that it’s dangerous out there, and it’s seems like it’s getting worse daily.
But then I ran into my cousin today, one of the finest men on the planet. He told me of another cousin that is fighting a vicious battle with cancer; I had absolutely no idea. And a cousin-in-law that has had a recent life-altering heart surgery; again, no idea. And then there’s my snarky cousin, the one that I am forbidden to be in the same state with due to the trainwreck of sarcasm that the toxic spillage prompts an emergency deployment of the national guard.
Also, in response to the above paragraph, a special detachment of specialists from DEOROS, the Department for the Eradication of Run-on Sentences.
So, what’s up with my cousin the snarkmaster? Oh, not much, just a near-fatal work related injury that has left him with, among other things, one of the most crippling ailments of all; depression. But despite all of my kindred’s current woes, they all have an abundance of the very thing that will ultimately pull them through: faith. And I have not an iota of doubt that they will all emerge victorious from their respective battles.
Life is way too short to not live it to the fullest. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that we need to run off on some wild, adrenaline-soaked adventure, although sometimes it does mean that very thing. But if you have the money, you probably don’t have the time, and if you have the time, you probably don’t have the money, at least that’s seems to be my problem. But any of us can find all the adventure we need right where we are. My buddy Marty had a saying that I try, often unsuccessfully, to live by: “don’t go looking for gnarly, gnarly will find you”. The Martster was an exceptionally accomplished motorcyclist, one of the best I’ve ever seen. But as many miles he traveled and the millions of chances he took, it was not the bike that got him; it was a tiny virus called Covid.
So when I got home today, I made some phone calls; it seems that a bunch of my guys are meeting tomorrow morning for an ADV ride through the Ouachita mountains. And I’m heading out with them, for a time at least, as I am notorious for splitting off on my own; the best meditation occurs in the noisy silence inside of a motorcycle helmet.
But first things first, and I remounted MacDuff’s carrier on the motorcycle. Life is too short to not ride a motorcycle, and it’s WAYYY too short to ride one without a dog, should you ever have the opportunity to do either.
We be of one blood, ye and I.