THE GOOD BUCK

I’ve been looking at engines I could strip down, just for fun practice. That invariably leads me to looking at cheap bikes because I would want to get it running again afterwards to prove I’ve not broken it. This has been going on for some time. The cycle often leads to me stressing out so much I literally lose sleep over it.

I’m not sure how, but suddenly I made the jump to wanting a more expensive, but really cool project bike. I saw a 1958 BSA A10 for sale for £2,750 and was going to get that. But then the doubts crept in, getting parts, whether it was what I really wanted, and as it was all ready running, if I would be able to replace my bulletproof VFR with a bike older than I am. And a Brit relic, at that.

Then I saw a site selling “cheap” (relative term) imported project Harleys. I was very tempted. But they are still asking a lot for a pig-in-a-poke bike. One I liked was a 1971 1000cc, 4 gear engine, it had no wiring harness, no starter motor, was thought to be not seized but not guaranteed, wasn’t registered in the UK, and they wanted £2,000 for it.

Some bikey goodness this week. My saddle finally arrived. It’s supposed to be gel padded and the ultimate in comfort for long distance riding. I popped it on. It certainly looks the business.

Before, plain ol’ Betty Monroe:

After, Mrs Ralph Hapshatt:

I had a week off work due to that bump. I had to go out with the driver trainer and now I’m back at work. One thing from it : the trainer pointed out there is no way I could have caused that tiny bit of damage. If I’d have been coming in at an angle the leading edge of the trailer would have hit the other side of the shutter door. I’d have had to have run right over the guide bars and my trailer would have missed the bay by about 7 feet to have hit on that side. They heard me reversing and making a clatter, came out, and blamed me for the damage they saw. I didn’t think to question it so went along with it. Work have said they can’t call the company liars, but basically they are writing the incident off as ‘no driver fault’. Cool. Way better than I was hoping for. It does explain why I was stood at the back of my truck, unable to understand how I could have hit the shutter. I didn’t. That might prove a valuable judgement call from the management. The trainer said they will be advertising more full time jobs shortly. Fingers crossed.

Other mixed blessing good news; I was obsessing over bikes again. Doing dozens of searches every day looking for the donor VFR750 bike (with a stainless steel exhaust and a whole bike of spares). Then I noticed an advert for a complete stainless exhaust system for £160. They only gave the model letter, I emailed for confirmation it was my year, they said “it’s in the text what it is”. Less than helpful. It is my model letter (Vfr750 F-R, -it’s the final letter that changes with each year model-) so if they are right I’ve got a cheap exhaust system. The downside is the only way I’m going to know if they are right about the letter is by fitting it. I want to keep the standard system on until it starts blowing, so I’m going to have to take off the standard, fit the stainless, remove the stainless and refit the standard.

It’s a bit of a beast of a job. Made worse by the fact everything (I ordered the new gaskets I’m going to need as well) should have been arriving today, my day off. But as it’s a bank holiday (which I totally didn’t realise) it will all be coming tomorrow, when we are both working. Super.

His last day on Earth was the longest.

He had booked two days off from work, one for Summer Solstice and one for his birthday the following day. He was going to be thirty. The realisation had been growing in him. While he knew it was an arbitrary number in his life, thirty felt like a milestone. The party years were past, the close knit band of friends were slowly separating into their own lives. Now each meet up required planning, and there were always absences. He’d been clinging on to the past but over the last year or two the restlessness had been growing in him. At first he had been just wanted to patch up the relationships with his friends and rebuild the past, but as the itch of restlessness grew so did his clarity. His friends were absorbed in relationships and families and careers, they, he felt, had their lives together, while he was just going through the motions. They were only going to drift further apart. He would have to move on, things couldn’t go back.

Admitting his ties to the past were fraying he started to examine the present. He wasn’t in a romantic relationship, his family and friends were becoming more estranged, he was renting, he was working in a warehouse. In other words, there was nothing keep him here. His restlessness had moved up several gears. For the past year he’d been window shopping jobs and accommodation in Cornwall or Scotland, as well as looking into the possibility of emigrating. He didn’t know where he wanted to go, he just knew he couldn’t stay where he was. It had grown from an itch of discontent into a frantic obsession.

I’ve had an eventful couple of days.

I was in work yesterday, I got to a drop in Liverpool and reversed onto the bay. The truck was a bit slow to turn so I went in at a bit of an angle, but still well within the guide rails. I missed the bumper on the loading bay, but let it slowly reverse anyway (there are bumpers on the back of the trailer) suddenly I heard a clatter. I got out and somehow I’d manged to hit the shutter door.

That’s it. The third panel down from the top right on the first picture (not the concrete, that was nowt do with me) but it slightly buckled the hinge thing on the inside of the shutter.