The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good
eideteker

Fly away home

This morning, my foot slipped getting my bike out of the garage. There was a small patch beneath where my bike had been parked overnight. I checked the drain plug; fresh oil. None in the sightglass. So I put more oil in the bike, tightened the drain plug (yes, in that order), then put a bunch more oil in the bike. I've checked it twice today and it seems to be holding its oil fine. Still, not the way I wanted to start the morning. Tonight, I'll need to pick up some more oil, and some time this weekend I'll want to do a full oil change and lube the chain as well. I should probably clean the garage up a bit, as well. It will be nice to have a usable work area, and places to put stuff away. I'll have to get rid of all the old cigarette cartons in the drawers (ugh), but it'll keep me busy. Maybe I can borrow Becca's car, as well, so I can pick up a stool or two (taller one for soldering on the worktable, lower one with wheels for working low on the bikes) and a rolling cart to put my tools and parts on while I'm working.

The morning wasn't all bad, though. I picked up a passenger on my bike this morning, on the way to work. I heard a fffffphlitt-twhick! as I was cruising down the 'backroads' (i.e., not The Pike) to work. In my right-hand mirror, I caught a glimpse of the orange shell of a ladybug on my upper right arm. I thought at the speeds we were traveling, surely she'd be smushed. But she hung on for the ten or so minutes it takes me to complete the Soldier's Field/Storrow Drive run. As soon as we hit a stoplight near Boston Common, she started to move again, crawling up towards my shoulder. I looked up at the light then back in the mirror, but she was gone. I expected any minute to feel her tickling my neck, but she must've flown off. She sure had a wild ride for a bit there, though. Wonder if she ever got home, or if she was running away.

Adventure is everywhere; even in the little things in life, and the little creatures.
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