Right now, on my sister’s living room couch, watching Phelps receive his 7th gold medal, 6th in an individual event, of the Beijing Olympics, following a win even more unlikely-seeming than the 4×100 relay win over France earlier in the Games.
Frankly, I’m a bit disappointed, since he failed to break his 6th individual world record, only setting a new Olympic record. Actually, not disappointed – really more like disgusted.
Okay, not really disgusted, more like amazed. The way he came back at the tail end of that swim was simply incredible.
Otherwise, not much to report. The motorcycle ride down went fine – the bike handles very well on the highways, not unexpectedly. One piece of information that was less than satisfying was how damn loud it is on the highways. Harleys are famous for their volume, of course, but this was one outfitted, once upon a time, with ‘Screaming Eagles’, which may sound like a spoof of a World War 2 batallion, like The Flying Hellfish (the fightengist squad in the fightengist company in the third-fightengist batallion in the Army!), but in fact are a style of extremely loud exhaust pipes, specially designed for that deep, throaty, ‘can hear you coming from 2 miles away’ roar.
Yesterday, riding back roads with dad and never getting above 50 mph, I found the sound to be loud, but bearable. But dear god, at 70, that thing sounds like a rabid hellhound. So, before heading on to North Carolina, the next thing to get is a really good pair of noise-blocking earbuds, something from Shure or something like that.
For now? Bedtime…