I know that on a Sunday a few weeks into September, I want nothing more, than have some good racing done. Some memories, maybe it'll be of sitting under the pop up tent on a little sandy ground, by Sunset Lake, that will last. That when you wheel me out drooling for a soft food dinner, that don't require much chewing, I'll smirk. and you'll think it's a burp. I'll roll my eyes up, and look at you from under my bushy brows.
Sunday, I got a good bruised knee, on an enjoyable, slippery, great course, with some great new bits, Euro-ish, for a rare battle for me,
where I had 5th for a bit, but lost it, slid out just near the end of the finale lap, and rolled in for 7th. I wasn't even going to race, but knowing how much I like Bridgeton, I tought I'd just go, maybe a tad easier, and enjoy the Sunday.
Got into it, went way harder, and got a great result. The mud, rain.
The day befor, a jam band of two, were playing track side, at a course by the Black River, I wiped out, snapped the hanger, just in front of the band, with a limp chain I ran for a long way to the pit, got on my bike. spit, cussed, sped, and caught the back of the suffering pack, for a 16th. Good old Townhall.
or will the memory just end up being, following Kelly back to our cars,
in the spray, and Jersey trucks blowing, with the pit bikes, and a couple of pictures snapped at the steep run up,
whatever the memories are, I'm sure they will be grand.