What it means to you, I don't know. What it means to me is riding.
Wanna do this to yourself with myself tomorrow night? Get in touch if you do.
Ol' man winter, lurking down there sub-surface, just dropped an ice storm on Los Angeles. Don't be a fool - yer time is gonna come, Virginia. Better get out while the gettin is still good. REALLY good, as it turns out.
|And I pity the fool who doesn't know what good is. Especially when that fool is Nancy Reagan.|
Side note, mostly unrelated, unless greatness is something you aspire to...
Remember that time Kev29er whooped up on Qwadsworth back when Qwadsworth was still just a pup?
The good ol' days, as I like to call them. Back before Qwadsworth grew a pair, and Kev was diagnosed with shizophrenia, hydrocephalia, syphillis, manic depression, and more broken bones and hurty toes than you can shake a wet, pink loofa at. I have to admit, I liked Qwadsworth a lot better when we could push him around on the steep stuff a little, but following Kevin through the woods at those speeds was a fucking nightmare. I'd live in the past, but I'll take what I can get, I guess.
Because if you like to get down, you gotta get up, up, up.