Christmas Thanksgiving
Almost a foot of snow fell yesterday around my Pacific Northwest home. My motorcycles are all parked around the 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, hibernating, tethered to their battery tender umbilicals for the winter. About a month ago was the last time any of their engines spun, Mustang included, replaced by the monotonous drone of a snowblower. Staring at them makes me reflect on the things I am most thankful for from the riding year past.
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