A place to keep the screws.

So, the bike and I moved into the garage this weekend. (Well, she did- I kept the house). But as strange as it may sound (or pitiful perhaps), getting divorced a couple years ago and apartment living since has made me miss having my own garage, man-space place to sit and stare at a motorcycle and not be judged for, well, sitting and staring at a motorcycle while drinking a beer. Which some may think isn't the most productive way to spend an hour or two. But I beg to differ.

Especially with this project, which is a lot of juggling what I'd like to do (time constraints), what I can afford to do (money restraints), what I am able to do (not a mechanic), and what looks cool (chicks dig it. Though actually there aren't any chicks, so if I dig it. There. I said it.)

But for me that's all part of the fun. Figuring out all those things, drinking a beer, sitting and staring, getting lost in the song playing in the corner (or the Mexican family nearby cranking the tunes, too). All makes for a memorable evening chilling in my very own garage again.

The only rule? Always remember what it was I figured out. Sometimes, it's not the machine, either.