Dirty Bitch.

So, the thing is this.  I have no way to read into the future, I sometimes wonder about tomorrow as a far off adventure that ...fuck it.

This bike has sat just as it is in the picture since early December and it is pissing me off.  I have to look at selling a kidney just to get some greenbacks to get even a decent cylinder set.  What the fuck does a guy have to do to get to a ride?  Kneecapping isn't an option at the rates I charge...

Does anyone else notice the clutter that has grown up like so much moss in an unmolested forest?  Yeah, that's what jumps out at me too.  The BSA is having to live with the rest of the world.  No escape, no rest.  Just weary and pushed around.

I'd love to kick the shit out of the guy who lost the cylinder.

K, rant done.  Now I need to clean and move the rest of the world away...light some incense, pour a cup of coffee, Whiskey, and cream.  The next pic will be cleaner.

The objective

The summer of the BSA is decided.
My plan is simple.
Get the bike running, and then run it.
The crown jewel would be...
The Tennessee Whiskey Tour!

I know this might be far reaching, but hey. You only get one shot, unless you buy the bottle.

Just a thought for living

Do not go gentle into that good night Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953 Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.