My weekend blew hairy goat balls.
My household water heater did its best impression of a British motorcycle some time in the days before Friday night - I came home from some practice laps with Chriscap to find that the water it was leaking undetectedly seeped under the vinyl flooring and infiltrated two rooms before making itself visible by warping the floor enough that a door wouldn't open.
Homeowners insurance deductable plus the cost of a new heater made my purchase of a set of Dunlop slicks look very ill advised to my wife. Damn the torpedoes! It's not the first or the last time that she's going to think I'm an idiot.
So I went through tech on Sunday and got in three good practice laps on the awesome AMA track (way more fun to ride on than to spectate over) when I hear a sound like a can full of rocks being dragged over a gravel road. Is that my bike? It was running well... lofting the front out of corners... I go a lap that way and decide to pull off and investigate.
Turns out the bolts holding my two-piece after-market flywheel backed out and sheared their heads off. No real damage done, except to the bolts, but with no puller, no impact wrench, no time, I had to back out of the day's racing.
I'll have it ready to go for Springfield, this Sunday.
Man, I am ticked - After days of sweating the urban cross sections and the dirt section, I had zero problems with them in that first short practice - then two stupid bolts end my day - mostly because I didn't check them.
Racing is a fickle mistress.
And plumbing. That's a fickle mistress too. Racing and plumbing, fickle mistresses, both of them.