There was only one thing to do: load up the bike and and get my ass to San Diego for a long weekend.
Because of various work responsibilities, I had go in to work for a half-day on Friday, so the best travel strategy would be to bring my crap to work, and depart for SoCal from there.
My brilliant travel strategy, incidentally, traumatized 3 out of 4 of my coworkers. Apparently, leaving on a motorcycle trip from work is unbelievably risky, though leaving from home isn't. I don't get it, but I guess I'll just feel flattered they worry about me.
So I got into San Diego as the sun was setting. Who knew that riding off into the sunset would be less of a dramatic experience and more of a squinty, uncomfortable pain in the ass?
The next day I got up for an exciting day on the high seas of, uh, San Diego bay. I'd been led to believe there would be some classroom training, so it was a bit of a shock when we went straight down the dock and got onto the boat. The boat, you see, was the classroom.
After an all too brief review of the parts of the boat (glad I'd studied before attending the class) and the rules of the road, we cast off and went out to try and wreck the boat. Somehow, I survived the next two days and now have my first ASA certification (which means I'm qualified to keep learning how to sail...).
Monday morning I loaded up the bike again and rolled home towards Phoenix, where the sailing isn't quite as good, but at least there's plenty of decent riding weather.