Immediately he began tearing it down. I was surprised how quickly it lay there in pieces. Broken bushings, shredded gaskets, and worn out parts were strewn all about, and I remembered all the times I told my wife I wasn't so sure about how sound this moto was. He showed me all the parts that were shot, shaking his head. I know he's thinking the same thing I am. I can't believe I made it this far. It's a SUKIDA, a SUZUKI knock-off, japanese job, but I've been greatly blessed to have it borrowed to me by my missionary friend Harold, so no complaints here.
I grew up snow-skiing in the mountains, and personally I think God knows I miss it. Now I'm going down these Haitian dirt roads that are rough as any mountain road I've ever been down, and dodging these giant water holes makes me feel like I'm slalom skiing, bouncing along between the moguls as I bob and weave. It's actually great fun and I'm grateful this is part of my work, however temporary it may be.
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