Spring. Only three month into the year, and I've slept 40 nights on the road for work. Probably a couple hundred more before the year is over. The minute I am in a warm climate I get yanked into a cold one, but it doesn't matter, because I am nowhere near my bike.

Its an election year, which means I get nothing but a pauch and some broken bicycle dreams. It just means that next year is my "rebuilding" year.

Spring. Hmphf. Whatever.