For the better part of the afternoon yesterday, all I could hear was the sound of a two-stroke weedeater going to town as I cleaned up the better part of the property that BangShift Mid-West sits on. I wanted to get a handle on the giant ragweed plants while they are still young, soft, and easy to cut down…and before they dump enough pollen to choke up a musk ox with. There aren’t many plants that will screw with my sinuses, but ragweed is just as good as Scotch broom was in Washington for choking me out. And the whole time that poor Stihl was screaming in anger, I just kept thinking back to the good old days of dirt-biking through the broom instead of just trying to chop it down. There’s many reasons why I haven’t really ridden since high school, but there’s that itch always in the back of my mind that says it’d be fun, that youth and stupidity have given way to age and wisdom, and that I’d be better able to handle a bike and what it can do.

Maybe. Doubtful, but maybe. I’d enjoy some nice trail riding, sure, But if we’re talking the kind of riding that these guys are doing, then…yeah, I think my chiropractor just texted me to inform me that the fees will triple if I dare attempt. Near vertical hills, the kind of mud that will suck your riding boots off of your feet, sandy hills that only look soft and forgiving, all on a two-stroke riot that has no trouble flinging you off to parts unknown if you screw up your body motions.

Hm…let’s see…Marketplace, search “motorcycles”…