The Harley wasn’t exactly running like a Swiss watch at the end of the day either, but my Swiss watch wasn’t running at all. A day on the Milwaukee paint-shaker had done something evil to the antique Rolex I’d inherited from my dad. My Godfather – part-time watch smith, full-time prison guard and keeper of the family time pieces – would not be happy. Aside from that, I was in surprisingly good shape. After a couple of days at the track, the prospect of another 400 miles on the thing, at least I’d never have to worry about kidney stones.