I  regretted getting a hotel room, it would of been easy and quick just to drive home after Saturdays race.   but I'm tired of getting up early and getting in the car and driving somewhere.
and I love cheap hotels.
so I checked in early, did a bit of stuff took a nap and went down to a local.  Brew pub.
I read.
and had a couple of beers.

Saturday, a course with features a plenty.  Off good, and flatted.  and hot shotted it too much to make up the lost ground.  but I'll learn to be steady. 
I think of lifting a shot off the bar.  The booze  bowed up over the edge of the rim.
To my lips without spilling a drip.

and if I can manage my legs, effort, in just a little better way, it will go quite a good way.

Sunday, f'church.  I'm in the grid. on a brewery access road, shivering as the officials figure out whos names go with whos numbers.   A hundred yards in, my head out talked my heart and I gave up a bit.

John Lux and Charles Kline came on, and we battled, I dragged on 'em.  held on. but in the end they both took me well before the line.

a good weekend.   I fell asleep at home, and was awoke with a jerk, my legs kicked, my toe clipping the top of a barrier.  I woke.  Took out the trash, raked some leaves.  

Sweet Baboo:

I remember standing next to him at the small bar.  He played bass on tour for a band.
I know him, of him, and in fact, he's a novel I haven't read,  I wanted to chat.
But I said nothing.  just Put down my empty glass on the bar.  and acted like he was another stranger.
and left. to a hotel room. I'd been racing cross that day. and went out that night as a bonus.
I like cheap hotels.  Music. a small bit of booze.
That's my adventure.

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