As you may recall, our trusty Jefe de los Locos (a.k.a.: Maverick Chief of Operations) Andrew Way had a little, er… “accident” last month. But GOOD NEWS, folks: He’s still alive! And he has a message for you. And a picture. I have no idea what the picture is about, but Andrew wanted to share it with you. (Percocet’s working like a charm, I see.)
So here you go, Mavericks: Words from the man who saw the dusty face of God, and lived to tell the story.
—Aydika
A Note From the Sidelines
by Andrew Way, Jefe de los Locos & Maverick Motorcycle Ballerina
THEY (you know—THEM) say that being forced to slow down can be therapeutic. Life’s easier to see from the slow lane. Appreciate what you have. Stop and smell the roses. Never pet a burning dog.
…Whups – wrong cliche. Sorry.
Onward.
Well, THEY can wait one fine second while I struggle into my Maverick speedo; and then THEY can kiss my green, spandexified arse. I’m bored.
And here is some of what I’ve learned thus far, whilst forced to the sidelines and nursing my various/sundry, dirt bike crash-induced injuries:
- Being at Underground® is WAY better than, you know… not being at Underground®.
- Typing is easier and vastly more fulfilling than using dictation software.
- Not skiing during ski season is akin to being a vegetarian at Morton’s.
- If one continues to eat as if one is burning a great many calories daily, one may get fatter.
- Percocet is a large-scale roadblock on the six-lane parenting highway.
- Life without tacky dirt and motorcycles to ride upon it is second-rate.
I used to think there were a great many things I could do well with “one hand tied behind my back.” Turns out I was wrong about most of them, including but not limited to: showering, building raised beds, double-fisting at the bar, eating popcorn, texting Mike Lally (Maverick1000 Member #19) and flipping the bird in traffic.
I’ve forwarded the above list of complaints to THEM. THEY have not responded. Nor have THEY sent roses to smell. Nonplussed by THEIR lack of communication, I’ve initiated an investigation into THEM in all of my newfound spare time. I’ve only dipped a toe in THEIR waters—THEY’RE shiftier and more elusive than you might imagine—but I can confidently say already that THEY are most certainly not Maverick material.
So stay frosty, my friends. Keep your person whole and your bones intact, lest THEY make an attempt on your sanity.
Stay atop all dirt bikes, both real and metaphorical.
Keep your nose on the ball and your eye to the grindstone! Wait…
Damned Percocet.
Jefe, out.
