So That Happened...

I'm a tad annoyed. Went out on Veronica today and rode around 300 miles. Great day. Great ride.  Everything, in fact, was just tits. 

Stopped at my last location and grabbed a bottle of water out of the bike-pack and sucked it down while watching traffic watch me down on the main street of a miniscule town out in the boonies. Got done, fired up the bike and roared away, not noticing until I got to the house that I'd left the pack undone and was NOW MISSING MY FUCKING JOURNAL. 

You've seen it -- I wrote about it a few months back. Well, since then, it's about 3/4 full of everything you can imagine, and a whole lot that you probably can't. Two hours of searching yielded no results. Either someone picked it up off the road or it's in a heavily-weeded ditch somewhere along that last long stretch. The odds of recovery at this point are close enough to zero to make no difference. 

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK

No blame for anyone. It's my own damned fault. The stuff in there is about > < that close to irreplaceable and I should have secured it better. The only upside to the whole thing is that due to my nearly instinctive paranoia about such things, there's not a line, card, piece of paper, or note that is traceable back to me. I have, in short, lost at least 3 months of unrecoverable raw writing. If you've been there, you'll know what I mean when I say

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

For the rest of you, my best advice is to avoid this where possible.   Since I'm at the moment in a near-homicidal mood, I'm going to be going to bed to calm my breathing and try to get my Stoic center back..

In Our Next Episode:  If y'all see this thing laying around on the road, let me know.