So, the house I'm at is simply going Bye bye in March, which has me (inspite of a minor head cold) psychotically thrashing around trying to get what I can in order and built and obtained for a trip that is going.... fuck. I have no clue. When I was younger, that never even crossed my mind as a point of consideration. Now, yeah... sometimes it dominates the process. Dammit.
But, I have enough fond memories to consciously push shit like that to the back of my head and go on blithely. Ignorance is bliss, and occasionally, really fucking handy.
In this sudden fit of forced inspiration is finishing the frame bag fro the front triangle of my bicycles' frame, handlebar bag (done in a now, antiquated style) and a wee tool bag for the space in my rear triangle right above the rear fender.
Then there is the nightmare that is my example of Logistics; aka, packing it all on my rig in the hopes that it doesn't try to kill me... again.
The good news for those reading these ramblings of an old nomad is I will probably have more than the usual dose of sarcasm to write about, and more often.
Till then my freaky darlings, Adeu.
A Priest of Storms
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