This weekend, I was going to go and find another pizza parlour and share with you all the details of another delicious (or perhaps not, who knows?) slice.
Before I did that, though, I needed to bring the Speed Four in for it's 8,000 mile service and new tires front and back (Michelin Pilot Roads, if you were interested).
On an amusing tangent, I pulled a big old nail out of my tire on Friday, so I was glad new tires were an anticipated expense.
Anyway, let's get back to the stupidity. I dropped the bike off for its service, and Lady Luck and I went off to do other fun Saturday things. We had lunch with some friends, stopped at a bakery co-owned by a scooter-fiend we don't actually know yet, and generally had a good time. Around 4:30, we called to find out what the hell the deal was with my bike. The dealership hadn't called, and we wanted to make sure it was done.
That's when we found out they'd closed half and hour earlier.
[Insert sound of me slapping my forehead so hard that people on the other side of the road turned to look.]
See, the dealer is closed Sunday and Monday, which means I can't get my bike until Tuesday. That means that I was bike-less all weekend.
That means that Lucky is not a happy camper.
So, back to waiting for my bike...