Day 174 - Waiting

Tom Petty knows his stuff. The waiting really is the hardest part.

See, I won this motorcycle.

I bought boots and pants last week.

My helmet, jacket, and gloves arrived yesterday.

I've been read the manual. I've studied for the test.

All I need now is the damn motorcycle.

So I call up the shipping company to see how close it is, secretly hoping that it'd arrive in time to ride this weekend.

Yeah. Not quite.

Nice Customer Service Lady: "Sir, we don't have a record of it being picked-up yet."

Me: "..." (That's stunned silence.)

After some research, I find out that even though I won the bike on June 10th, it wasn't picked up until yesterday, June 22. Which coincidently is exactly when I imagined the bike in Bloomington, or at worst Louisville.

Apparently, the driver was sick. Food poison. Also, apparently, there's only one driver.

Twelve days! I could have pushed it from New Orleans to Carmel, IN in 12 days.

There's a lesson in here somewhere about patience. And tolerance. And maybe trust, trusting that things will work out.

At least my gear is getting put to good use.

The Duke - Born to be Wild

For those of you insanely brilliant and good looking readers with absolutely nothing to do, feel free to follow the progress of my motorcycle's journey on its very own Google Map: Where's My Monster? 

Something tells me this will be an interesting journey. Probably through Anchorage. And Brisbane. I'll update the map whenever I get updates from the shipping company. 

Which apparently come every 13 days. I'm sure they'll improve on that.

Today, the bike is presumably in Fairburn, Georgia, which was once the county seat of Campbell county, until Campbell county went bankrupt in 1931 and was absorbed by Fulton county. Understandably, Fairburn is NOT the county seat of Fulton county.

Fairburn, GA.

Slogan: "Where 29 and 14 meet up with 92."

Fairburn is, though, home of the Georgia Renaissance Festival, which I'm sure is a lot of fun, if you're into turkey legs and grog and really bad acting.

Good running,

Doug

Numbers: 4.3 miles on the streets in withering heat and humidity.
[Forgot to post numbers first go-round. Thanks Sheryl for the heads-up.]