Freezing fog on the trees and shrubs in the lower valley today. Rode along the southern edge of the Boise River's flood-plane; scared up blue herons, ring-necks, mallards, snow geese, and a golden eagle ripping apart a muskrat on a fence post. For no apparent reason, the right lens of my eyeglasses popped out, clattered against the inside of my face shield, then dropped through the small gap that was keeping the shield from fogging. Crap.
Mileage check day at Birds of Prey. With 333 I'm beating Tito. But some Yahoo who commutes from the last town down stream in the Treasure Valley, Weiser, has racked up over 900. "What's he ride?" I asked.
"Yamaha Maxim 650."
"Cool. It will break down before spring and be getting ice in it's carbs." I announce hopefully.