The Best Laid Plans

Robert Burns once wrote that "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley."

Now, I ain't no Scot, but my eighth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Brown, explained that this was the inspiration behind Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, and that it roughly translates to, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry."

That goddamned Lenny.

Nice enough guy, but always fucking things up. Always killing things. Big dumb fucking animal.

Now look, I don't have a Lenny in my life right now. I've certainly had a few over the years, but these days, it's mostly just me. I ride this motherfucker solo.

Well... kind of.

I'm desperately trying to change that.

Lately I've been spending every weekend I can with the woman I've fallen hopelessly in love with. Every chance I get, I throw a backpack on the bike, point it north, and head for Colorado.

Tomorrow was supposed to be one of those weekends.

The plan was simple. Get up early. Stop at Pantry Dos for breakfast and some of the best red chile in New Mexico. Climb onto Nyx. Point her north. Dig my heels into her sides and let that Milwaukee-Eight eat.

Simple.

Then Robert Burns happened.

Or Murphy. Take your pick.

Nyx was already scheduled to go into The Fab Shop next week for a cam upgrade. When they installed the Woods 22XE cam in Aurora, holy fucking hell... it completely transformed that motorcycle. The torque comes on immediately, stays high, and just keeps pulling. The first time I twisted the throttle afterward, I knew Nyx was getting the same treatment.

This week I got the call.

"Bring her in Wednesday."

Perfect. I couldn't wait.

Then today happened.

I needed to head to another building at work, so I grabbed Nyx. I made it exactly as far as the turn onto the road leading to the parking structure before the throttle stopped responding.

That's... less than ideal.

I killed the ignition, waited a bit, and tried restarting her.

Nothing.

Just the starter turning over.

"Fuck."

So there I was, pushing a nine-hundred-pound motorcycle uphill one three-inch shove at a time. If you've never pushed a touring Harley uphill, I don't recommend adding it to your bucket list.

Fortunately, a couple of guys stopped and helped me wrestle her into the parking garage, where she currently sits waiting for Wednesday.

I called my mechanic.

No room today. We'll deal with it when she comes in for the cam.

Fair enough.

Which means tomorrow's beautifully orchestrated plan now looks something like this: Rent a motorcycle trailer. Drive to Los Alamos. Load Nyx. Drive back to Santa Fe. Return the trailer to Bernalillo. Drive home. Throw my backpack on Aurora instead.

And finally... Ride to Colorado.

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.

But here's the thing: I'm still going.

I'm still going to see my girl.

I'm still going to hear her laugh.

I'm still going to watch her smile when I pull into the driveway.

I'll just be arriving on a different motorcycle.

Machines break. That's part of riding.

You can get angry about it, or you can accept that breakdowns come with the territory. Sometimes the road throws a wrench into your plans. Sometimes it throws hail. Sometimes it throws thunderstorms. Sometimes it throws a dead motorcycle into the middle of your workday.

You adjust. You adapt. You keep riding.

Besides, by the end of next week, Nyx is going to have a whole new attitude.

And if Aurora gets me to Colorado in the meantime, well... I don't imagine my girlfriend is going to care which Harley I ride into town. She's waiting at the other end, and that's a destination worth changing plans for.