A few days ago, I came home and parked my truck in the driveway. Got out, went in the house. Unbeknownst (cool word) to me, I had left it in neutral. The driveway is slighlty sloped towards the garage, and the wooden gates between the truck and the garage were closed. The truck sat where I left it for a couple of hours. I got on my bike and ran some errands. While I was gone, the truck had finally made up it's mind to roll and when I got back, it was piled into the now splintered gates. They held, but they were old to begin with, and now they were almost dead. I was able to swing the flimsy shadows of their once-proud, centurion-like selves shut, but they were in sad, twisted shape.
I surveyed the damage and decided they weren't worth fixing. I needed new gates. So I wiped my eyes, pulled myself together and drove to Home Depot. Picked up the lumber I needed and hauled it home. Off-loaded it right next to the fence. And that is exactly where it has sat ever since.
So it's been pestering me and I know I need to get it done. Or at least started. Or look at the lumber as I walk by. Anything.
And tonight it finally came to a head. Trouble is, I wanna take this ride with John and Jason and whoever else shows up tomorrow, because I never have a chance to ride on Friday. And my bike is full of metallic dust from a ride I took along the railroad (that never really happened ;) and I can't really get on it with a clean conscience until I give it a bath. So you can see my dilemna. And I really need to ride. So . . .
The bike is clean and ready to roll.
Me and the bike are lubed.
The gates are fixed.
You already know how I feel about duct tape.
Just call me superman, or whatever. I know I shouldn't have taken on this massive gate repair job when I am already short on time, but in the words of Wade Garrett, "Darlin', I'll get all the sleep I need when I'm dead."