Carry on, Streido, ain't nothin' to it but to do it.
Ya know, I've got a mate that owns a fishing tackle shop in Whitehaven, south of the border up your way. He quit smoking cigarettes after having a horrendous habit, and one of the best benefits was saving enough money to fly out here to New Mexico twice a year to go hunting and shooting.
We have a Scheutzenfest up in Raton every year dedicated to FALs and L1A1s, we'd ride the scooters up there, but with all the rifles and gear, we run the Land Rover, so we just do a bit of touring closer to home.
He used to be a motorcycle courier in London, so I figured he'd know how to ride, but he went to pull in the clutch, which was the rear brake, and almost launched himself over the handlebars.
It's a scooter, you stupid, soggy old git, a scooter.
But he was alright after that, except when we we got up around 9,000 feet, and the altitude almost killed him. Never would have made it if he was still smoking.
