I'm sitting her in my cube doing the daily grind, as the flourescent lighting is making me antsy. Clacking away any my keyboard while doing work that pays the bills. There is dirt and oil under my fingernails, and my hands smell like burnt metal. I don't belong here, this is a slow death for a creative person. It's not that I'm not good at my job here, it's just that even at the best of times here, I don't get the satisfaction that I do from the bikes. I can take something that is literally a pile of garbage and make it a fire breathing piece of art, and I did it with my hands. We don't have expensive tools, or expensive anything for that matter, but we do have is a little talent. More than talent, and I will speak for myself here, I have a love for this. I often have the conversation with friends about what we would do if we hit the lottery, and my response is always the same "Buy a small shop and build motorcycles". Have a big family, love my wife, see the world, die with a shit-eating grin on my face. Maybe buy a cool truck andd a boat too....
I know this is just job to pay the bills and I won't always be here and I suppose I need to keep that in mind, but the late nights and weekends in the shop keeping me going, and I have a strange feeling i'm not alone in this boat. So until I hit the lottery.....please keep buying our bikes.
Live the life you love.
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