Some Days Just Ain’t Got It

Just after rolling out of bed, I was sleeping with open eyes while holding the first hot cup of black caffeinated gold when I entered MotorMilt’s garage to prep the bikes for a ride — Specifically the old man’s new F4 — Because today was the day, which given recent events, had been hastily scribbled on calendars in permanent ink between the previously marked moments which couldn’t move. Funny how a new bike demands, if not commands you, to make the time where none seems possible.

The previous night the old man and I had acted like starry-eyed children waiting to unwrap the next mornings’ presents, idly kicking around roads and routes with glee. Yet five minutes into our morning, the idyllic image of a maiden voyage (and a much needed ride) came crashing down with the click of a single garage door button. Instead of hearing the well worn chug of the metal chain, the door squealed to an apathetic, wailing halt. Four inches above the ground. Quickly hands moved, metal bent, grease and oil spread like a wildfire — but to no avail. The door had called it quits. Gone off and retired before the race was run and on the very day when it was going to give birth to a brand new motorcycle memory… Thus proving that it’s possible to have an Italian Motorcycle moment that has nothing to actually do with the bike… Finally, once the anger and anguish of the moment subsided, I found myself pulling on a deep drag from a smoke and thinking to myself, some days just aren’t meant to be… And so it goes…