Finally, with the first 2009 issue of MotoUSA Magazine put to bed and hot off the press, I’ve somehow found myself with a completely free weekend. No travel assignments, no labor requests from parents or friends, no honey-do lists, nada. Just two days of pure JC time. Unfortunately, it’s that time of year where our little nook in the Pacific Northwest plays toilet bowl for Frosty and the Abominable Snowmen. Our local trails have all been covered with a layer of the white stuff and dirt biking has come to a grinding halt.

I sat on the couch two nights ago and tried to come up with plans for the weekend – sans motorcycle, but all I could do was stare forlornly at the television. From the tiny speakers (no, I don’t have surround sound) came the woeful voice of Kim Jong-iI in Team America. His soulful solo struck deep as I checked, for the 36th time, the weather forecast.

It wasn’t but the next day, driving my Tacoma in 4WD down the icy street, that I heard an ad on the local radio station for Motorcycle-Superstore. It was calling for all dirt riders to get out and pound the trails, and any street riders who weren’t a “complete Nancy” to buy some cold-weather gear and stretch their riding season. All I could muster was a disdainful snort as I peered miserably through the tiny defrosted hole on the windshield.

It’s now 5:15 p.m. on Friday and the office is clearing out. I’ve been trying valiantly to talk myself into a snow ride, but even the irrational side of my brain hasn’t been receptive, and my riding pals aren’t helping any either. The only time in who knows how long that I’m remotely caught up on work and free to ride for the pure pleasure - no notes, photo stops or helmet cams to worry about. Instead, I’ll be painting my living room. Damn this sucks.

I’ll have to keep the tunes cranked up while I’m working the rollers. Every now and then I catch the faint sound of a pitiful ballad coming from the WR250F in my garage. I feel ya, brother…

I’m so ronery,
so ronery,
so ronery and sadry arone…