It was a bad break: your basic spiral fracture of the left lateral malleolus – that's hammer in Latin – otherwise known as the end of the fibula. I know. People have slipped on an icy patch of sidewalk and ended up with worse. But a few weeks after tipping over in a particularly determined Antelope Valley blizzard and being banished to these evil aluminum crutches, delayed-onset cabin fever is taking hold, and it's bad. Finding the bright spots takes a little effort.
First on that list: the bones are knitting themselves back together sans screws, plates, pins or other expensive orthopedic accoutrements. Amen to that. And there are some interesting distractions outside my little orbit. Ben Spies is running right behind Haga san's F09 1098 in qualifying for this weekend's World Superbike round in Valencia, so there's the drama of whether or not #19 can pull off another sweep. I'll go in record and say that he can. But with at least another two weeks without actually riding a motorcycle, Mrs. Carrithers has spies all over the neighborhood. Rumor has it the ice cream man has her cell phone on speed-dial, so don't even try. Still, I've got to do something. Nobody said I can't work on a motorcycle. Especially when the one in need of the most work technically isn't a motorcycle at all. It's my 72 Honda Trail, languishing pitifully in The Shed between an ancient Craftsman lawnmower and my mom's old KitchenAid stand mixer. It won't even start…yet.