It's Friday.

Drop dem pants.

I celebrated the end of my birthday evening by crashing my motorcycle. No, crashing is too dignified a word for what I did. I should say that in an attempt to travel a distance on top of my motorcycle, my plan went horribly awry and instead I traveled a short distance underneath it.

I remember the beginning and the end, not so much the middle. I was taking a small sharp turn far to quickly, locked up the rear brake, some things happened, and then my motorcycle was on its right side with my left leg underneath it. At some point some thing, perhaps the ground, slammed my right side like three baseball bats duct-taped together. My helmet did its job.

Stunned, I tugged pathetically at my trapped leg. I heard a voice in my head, not my usual inner monologue. "GET UP." I gave a mighty tug and my leg was free. Hurting, but free. I stood up then doubled over for a second as my ribs protested. Cars were lining up behind me in the single lane, idling helpfully. I tried to lift the bike, but couldn't. I tried to pull it out of the way with an equal lack of success.

"PICK IT UP."

I squatted down, grabbed the handlebar and part of the central frame, and set the motorcycle upright. I wheeled it to the side of the road. The other cars zipped by. A cursory inspection revealed a few scrapes but I couldn't find any major damage, not that I'm really qualified to do so. A quick inspection of myself was the same. Scraped up, lost some fluids, some cosmetic damage, but nothing to stop me from functioning. I started the bike and listened. Sounds normal. Louder, since the muffler had become disconnected. I popped it back on and rode off. My right turn signal, the one I had whacked into service but had since failed again, was now functioning perfectly. Sweet.

I should probably mention that I had just watched a film involving a certain Speed Racer but I'm certain that in no way influenced my racing around and subsequent "crash".

According to the makeshift Stonehenge in my backyard that I built out of bicycle frames and old bird baths, today is my 26th birthday. Thus begins the spring of my second youth. Rather than age in the traditional fashion, I have decided to water down the whiskey of experience with the sweet soda water of child logic. I will try to listen more than I speak, ask "Why?" a great deal more, and assume everyone is my friend.

There is a nexus that links budding life and fading glory: every question is obligated to be a philosophical one. Truth must be layered like a sandwich in a Dagwood comic; unencumbered by gravity or common sense and always attempted with a foolhardy optimism.

I'm also going to act a lot more grizzled at times since it goes with my facial hair.

I can't wait.