I got back from a business trip tonight, wasted. Not in the alcohol way, but the life-energy kind. So I'll be damned if I can figure out how I ended up in the shop instead of on the sofa. I guess when primal forces tell you to do something, you do it. (Yes, I stole that line from Field of Dreams, my all time favorite movie. (Whatever, the brilliancy of the plot greatly overshadows the acting, so bite me.)) And what primal forces were telling me, as I gazed wistfully out upon my silent, snow-covered pump track, was that the damn lathe I bought last winter has been sitting there long enough and that it's time to fire it up and turn something.
So the rack shop now has machining capability, officially. Holy hell, things are gonna get totally sick.