I had a bit of synchronicity this week. Since I live in an apartment building, a few days ago I was bemoaning my lack of grungy indoor workspace. I planned to get out the shop manuals and learn me some two-stroke fixin’. But I’ve got no place to pull parts off and get greasy, no cement floor on which to perform sanding and painting. No storage for tools, either.

Unlike some of my friends in the Vespa Club, I can’t carry the Frankenstella upstairs to my apartment, in pieces or in its entirety. Those crazy kids just throw down a tarp and have at it, right in front of the television. I have new hardwood floors. And I’m not strong enough to carry cargo up three flights of stairs. Plus I could think of a dozen more reasons why I shouldn’t attempt tinkering with gasoline-fueled machinery indoors, white couch notwithstanding.

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I repaired my camera this morning with an eyeglass screwdriver kit and some electrical tape. I had a whopping three photos on it from New Year’s Day, and here they are.

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Ouch.

Happy New Year, kids. Started mine off with a bang. Or a crunch, rather.

Today was the Westenders Lost Ride, and Doc lead twenty of us into the wilds of Washington on his glossy pink Stella, dual flags flying behind him. I was already lost when we passed UW and kept going, so I’m easy to please.

I think the idea was to just keep taking random roads until nobody knew where we were. It was a fabulous day for a ride; the mountains were out and heavily frosted — even Rainier. We went down through the Arboretum and past Lake Washington and the views were gorgeous.

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