i dont think wet dream is the applicable word although it does make some literal sense. I woke yesterday  in the midst of mighty sob. I eventually fell back asleep, and when I awoke the second time, I packed my bag, left it on the couch.and went to catch the bus. It took  an hour and a half to get to the moto shop riding the bus, even though it had only taken me 3 hours to walk the same distance. Austin, I'm told, is a mecca for the blind, deaf, and people who have lost the sense of touch. There were numerous folks on and off the bus with white canes and my old inclination to follow them around for the day crawled out of its shallow grave, but i told myself that I didn't have time to be so curious and kept riding down to South Congress where Austin MotoClassics is located.  Dustin wasn't quite ready for me when I arrived though, so  I sat out on the picnic table and waited for him to finished putting back together the front caliper. From what he told me I'm glad that I didn't attempt to change the brake pads myself. He'd had a time getting the piston out and had to heat it as a last resort. It did come out though and he got it all back together, but even with new brake pads and him getting all the gum out of the caliper, my front brakes still don't do shit and it takes me 20 feet to stop even at low speeds. Just another reason to be careful I suppose. He suggested a master cylinder rebuild when I get somewhere for a while, I rebuilt the one on the Honda and it wasn't very difficult so I think I'll take care of it in San Francisco. One of the only tools I didn't pack in my bag was the snap-ring pliers, though, and that tool is key for these master cylinders. Getting those rings out without one is an absolute pain. He put on a new starter relay, new tires, said brake pads and did a number of other small things, and  Josie is once again a goddamn flowering wheelrocket.. Austin Moto Classics did a great job, and it was only 1 dollar more than I had guessed I was going to spend there, which is also a dollar more than she cost in the first place. They gave me a free t-shirt and I rode back to Zac and Laceys to get my bag. After some goodbyes, I made my way down 35 to 290 and rode that out to the 10. 290 passed through Fredricksburg, which is a town that alot of the organic produce and products that fill Austin come out of. There were well-off looking middle aged couples strolling around everywhere, windowshopping all of the mom and pop storefronts. It looked like a place my mom would like, quaint as they say. The sun set about a half hour before I hit 10, so I stopped at  Dauna's General Store and dauned all my cold weather gear. As I was suiting up, an fat elderly woman stood next to me and told me the ins and outs of making cupcakes all day. I never asked her why she had to make so many cupcakes, and she eventually got in one of the pickups in the parking lot. I would guess that there are more pickup trucks in Texas than horses, or even people for that matter. They're everywhere, along with SUVs. I wasn't aware that they made SUVs as large as some of the one's that blew by me. It was dark when I got to West 10, 487 miles from the New Mexico border, and the speed limit was 80. I made it my goal for the night to make it out of Texas, stopped for gas and some caffeine, and barreled towards the Pacific with a purpose. The fellas at Austin MotoClassics had warned me about hordes of mentally handicapped, suicidal deer that prowled the shoulders of 10, just waiting for the opportunity to prove themselves but I didn't see the first live deer, only piles of entrails and blood smears. The night ride was wonderful. Ive always been a fan of traveling at night and it was no exception. I didn't see very much of west Texas but I did catch of whiff of all the small towns I passed through. Most of them smelled like horseshit and tortillas, but El Paso smelled distinctly of fresh cut green peppers.