Like every other morning, at 7am, I jumped on my G and raced uphill across the thick forests, towards Frank’s metal lair. But this time, happened to be better than most. Stormy skies were watching and the wolfs had howled all night, both signals of good omens to true men.
Before us, rested the beginning of our second attempt at making a motorcycle tank, and as promised, the morning went better than expected. Business was running good and we were very grateful for this, so shot some pictures, had a few laughs, said goodbye and off I went running on the same road back home.
A few miles later, and while under attack by the munchies, I was surprised by a small free standing tombstone, hidden behind the curve. More than a thousand times had I passed that turn and never before had I seen it. Many times trapped by the “faux” safety of a car, many others getting close to the tarmac on a bike, but surprisingly had never noticed that sad little monument to someone’s life, to someone’s lose. Shit it looked solemn.