Dear Diary, He came into the garage months ago, looked me over lasciviously, poked and prodded every region of my being, pulled things out, put things in, and bought me new shoes. At times soft and gentle, other times primal in his ministrations, he fawned over me, listened to me, heard my joys and complaints. Two days of undivided attention, oh bliss and glory! WE are going to spend quality time together (finally). WE are going to picnic aside rivers, sleep under the stars, and communicate tirelessly for days. And then, as if we hadn't just reconnected on a near cellular level, he walked out, flicking off the lights with no more import than punching a time card. At first, I couldn't sleep, so excited was I that tomorrow we would ride. Alas, days surrendered to nights, the spiders drawing their exquisite webs from my once clean surfaces, dust fell and accumulated through days choking with dripping heat and nights sleepless with depression, there I sat, in that damned garage...alone. Some weeks later, the door opened and in he walked as if nothing had happened. Oh, I was steaming mad, but before I could utter a word, he walked right over to the other, and started doing to HER what he had previously only done to ME. Lubing and tightening, fiddling and fixing, stopping only to step back and think of how he could attend to HER more. I hate that 1290. Oh, how I glared at him those days. Adding insult to injury, he started packing gear...onto HER! What The Duck?? I cried myself to sleep that night, not even caring about the spiders. At least THEY touch me. At least THEY think me worthy of decorating with their spindly art. How could he? I wonder if the bitch knows those panniers make her ass look fat? Dear Diary, Well, apparently I did not clear my vacation with Henri. This is the third time a Hurricane has thwarted my plans for a ride. I am just not into two weeks of rain, mud, washed out bridges, and waterlogged boots. I talked to the better half tonight and she suggested I go to Utah or Colorado, rather than the northeast. At first I balked at the idea of riding across Kansas and Missouri...again. But then I decided to take the 5-hundy. I need to get her ready. I did the yearly maintenance a couple months ago, still need to toss that worthless Tubliss system for some real tubes, but other than that, the 5-hundy is good to go. Outside of the bike, all I really need to do is throw on the tent and load up the trailer. Speaking of the trailer, I think I should check the tires - they are now about 7 years old, not much mileage on them, but they just kinda sit there in the sun all day. Ah, never mind, I have a spare. Dear Diary, So, I don't know what sort of mind games he is playing, but the other day, in a rush, he comes into the garage like a manic meth head looking for his pipe. He's moving things around, searching for items, scratching his head in wonder; the fat Austrian BITCH got moved back to the bench, and I am wheeled over to the batter's box, so to speak. I'm the SKINNY Austrian bitch in the batter's box! Unceremoniously, I am lifted onto the moto stand and he is paying attention to ME! I feel like a bride in a gown atop a dais, with my humble tailor performing his sartorial duties. A column of light peeks through the window and settles upon me and all my glory. But then, he wheels that yellow Bavarian Cow into the trailer (not the fat Austrian bitch - but the Bavarian cow.) Just as I am about to fall off the moto stand in a fit of hysteria, he comes back in and wheels ME into the trailer as well. I don't know what kind of media he is watching, but I WILL NOT be party to a menage a trois with that fetid cow. Soon we are moving down the road and the Fraulein and I have a chance at idle conversation while bouncing along inside the trailer. I really should not have called her a cow. She is just getting on in years and wants to spend her golden years closer to family in Utah. Dear Diary, Made it to Utah, unloaded the GS into Grandpa's garage. It's covered up and the battery tender is trickling. Now my lovely wife and I have a bike in Utah for fly-n-rides. The ride to Utah was terrible, the Tacoma is not a long-range tow vehicle. Every bump in the road was experienced twice. Speaking of twice, I blew a tire on the trailer...twice. One on each side. Once in Kansas, and then again near Denver. Fortunately there was a Big-O close to the second blowout as I had already used my spare. I really should have replaced those tires before the trip. Had breakfast with mom and dad, now I am going to ride to Baggs and pick up the COBDR. Oh, there was a hot air ballon festival going on this morning as I left. Made things interesting.