and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

I may occassionally be an early bird but I rarely get the worm. I show up bright and early (well, relatively) for Bunnie's Weekend In Review and I always have to wait half the day - checking over and over like a (in her words) cyberetard. Though, when I first read the word I thought she said cybertard and I think I enjoy that a little better.

Woke up yesterday morning to a dark day - cloudy and windy and none to exciting - but by 1 or 2 in the afternoon the clouds were running off to play somewhere else and the sun was baking the earth and it got downright hot out. Okay, well, hot for Maine in April. I think it hit 65.

The best part about riding a motorcycle is the smells and the air flowing over you. I fired her up yesterday and tooled around downtown looking for my friend and enjoyed the wafting grease and frying foods. Then I took her out on the highway and opened her up a little and felt the wind pushing me all over the road and then the ocean breeze hit me. If it were any cooler I'd have shivered from the change but it was just warm enough that the cooler air was refreshing. The farther out on the point I got the colder it got till it was almost perfect. I could smell the seaweed in the air and when I finally parked the bike there was a cloudless sky.

We got a green kickball and bounced it around on the sand and ran through the surf even though it made the feet pound with the ache of artic cold. We walked forever and played with strange dogs on the beach - not worrying about our ball because it was too large for them to get a good mouth on it - and chased after the horses too because it was funny to see them kick up their rear quarters and fling sand in the sun. We walked for four miles and maybe some more, not really paying attention to the time and occassionally rushing into the water up to the knees only to rush back out.

It was windy enough and the little green kickball would trot ahead of us, rolling down the beach as if it were excited to get somewhere. It would wander in lazy half-circles up the beach and back down towards the water and we would kick it back up the next half-circle.

The Ducati got a 12,000 mile service and the mechanic came out with a bag full of rust and a ridiculusly heavy fuel filter. Hmmm... perhaps that is why she was starting so hard? All is well that ends well and there isn't even the slightest hesitation now, in the morning, when I start her up.. though there is need for a tank treatment in the near future.. who ever said a motorcycle was economical transportation?!

Sun is out again today and looookin fine at 65 degrees. Booyah