Worn Down And Frazzled

Well - it's over. Bike Week. Daytona Beach, FL. 800,000 bikers in one place that comfortably holds 50,000. 18 deaths. 6 births. Many beers consumed.

My yearly nod to debachery.

And I'm so very tired.

It seems that the older you get, the harder it is to perform. No, not like that - but to ride the motorcycle 600 miles and get up and do all the stuff and then ride it back all in four days.

I swear I feel like I have been beaten with a stick. But this too shall pass.

I had a good time seeing all the sights. Nothing too bizarre, just the regular biker stuff. You will never see a more amazing cornicopia of motorcycles in all your life. Things that look like something from a Buck Rogers show.

Of course, the girls in string bikini's that serve beer don't hurt either!

All in all it was a good trip. I got to spend some quality time with people I love. But on the trip home all I could think of was hurrying up. I cut an hour off the return trip simply by putting the hammer down. I think it was only 45 minutes back from Mobile to Hattiesburg. Not a bad leg!

And as I pulled up at home, I was reminded of why I was hurrying. She was waiting in the front yard with her eyes full of love and concern.

It makes a boy never want to leave again.

The road may truly go on forever - but I know that I don't have to be on it anymore unless I choose to.

Peace.