And not the sort I make myself. Hypo-glycemics do not have the luxury of going off feed, even though eating is the last thing I feel like doing.
I have been deeply, fundamentally hurt by three people in my inner circle in as many months, and my chain has officially come off the sprockets. (I haven't told you the Ducati chain story yet, so you don't get the reference, although you probably do get the point.)
This summer, as I chipped away at my self-professed off-road phobia on my XT, I found myself marveling at this little motorcycle. Li’l Burro! So steady and surefooted! There’s nothing it can’t do! Li’l Burro! The machine for the apocalypse! Whenever I came across a challenge in the road, I’d steel myself, ask “What would Li’l Burro do?,” and ride on, ride up, ride over. The possible, redefined!
Now, as I sit here, mortally wounded, staring down my “Organic Four Cheese Stone Baked Pizza”, I ask myself once again, “What Would Li’l Burro Do?"
Ride on, ride up, ride over.
*Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just not my way.