The Plastic Seals Her FatePosted: April 8, 2011
I don’t know what is so dramatically important about actually clicking the order button on those pre-entries that have been sitting in my WERA account, patiently waiting for me to finish the registration process. But I really started feeling all giddy inside when I entered my payment information and then clicked the order button. My mouse hovered over it, hesitating for just one moment, then I closed my eyes and gave it one purposeful, determined click. I’m going to Nashville, with or without Mr. Slow. Alone or with my one-man chauffeur/roadie/pit-crew/track-photographer/sponsor entourage.
I’m not entirely certain how I feel about having to go by myself. Hell, I probably won’t even be able to find the damned place. Get lost, be late, stuck outside the gate overnight, late for tech, sleep-deprived, hopped-up on caffeine, and in a generally foul mood due to the lack of a good cup of coffee and the silicone stuck under my fingernails that I can’t seem to dig out.
No. I take that back. I do know exactly how to feel about it: pukey. I shall bring some paper bags, just in case.
Now, somebody please help me get this freakin’ bike off the truck… I don’t have all day…