Article by Charlie Lear – biker.<\/p>\n
Let me tell you about the morning I had.<\/p>\n
The jug (electric kettle) has sprung a leak around one of the sealing
\nwashers. Its only a few months old, so it should be fixed under warranty.<\/p>\n
Looked outside, overcast, no hint of rain, little wind, temp around 65.<\/p>\n
Time to take the bike for a burn…<\/p>\n
Boots, jacket, helmet. Will I leave the pups inside or outside? Hmm, I
\nwon’t be gone long. OK you two, stay here, look after the house. Back
\nsoon.<\/p>\n
Out the front door (slam! Dogs run to the front window, tails wagging).
\nHelmet, check, gloves, check, wallet, check, keys KEYS! ARGH! MIGOD!
\nThe *one* Saturday when my wife is working overtime and I LOCK myself
\nOUT OF THE HOUSE! WAAAAAHHH!<\/p>\n
Check all windows. Nope, I closed them all before I went out. Rattled the
\nkitchen window – its a bit loose, but I’d break it if I tried to lever it
\nopen. Round the back, if I could only get into the roofed-over area out
\nbehind the house I could get at the spare key… a lot of grunting and
\nprecarious balancing later, I’d levered off a bit of roofing sheet and
\ndropped down behind the house.<\/p>\n
Exit number 2, this time with KEYS. Start the bike, petrol light is
\nflashing. Damn things always flashing, it starts when I’ve got about
\n150km to go on the tank. <\/p>\n
Down the road, splutter splutter reach to turn the petrol cock onto
\nreserve. Hang on, its already ON reserve! Waaah! Bike keeps spluttering
\njust long enough to roll into the local service station. Five bucks
\nlighter and five litres fuller, we roll out again. Wait at the intersection,
\nright onto the main road. Lower Hutt here we come.<\/p>\n
Rec.motoheads will no doubt recall my mid-winter tales of dicing with a
\n250 rice rocket on the Wainuiomata hill. So you know where we are. Heading
\nup, looong straight up past the cars, bike doing an easy 130km\/h in third.
\nDab on the brakes, peel into the right hander at 110, toes pointing out,
\naha, touchdown, feel the sole of my boot kissing the road as my bike’s
\nkissing my soul. Up and over into the lefthander, maintain 110 all the
\nway through. Cages doing around 60 if that, while I wind her out in third
\nand change into fourth at 140. Back off now, light touch on the brakes and
\nbring her down to 85 or so – there’s a lookout at the crest of the hill,
\nwith Ruperts known to U-turn or run across the four-lane. <\/p>\n
Crest the hill, the coast is clear. Back into third, point my two-wheeled
\nzoom machine down. Right, accelerate through the turn, left. Flick lights
\non high, let the startled cagers in the slow lane know there’s a DoDer on
\nthe way through. Up to 130 and hard on the brakes, real hard, we’re peeling
\ninto the next righthander. Take it at 100, we could do it at 120 but the
\nguys who do so adorn the Armco in the next bend. Flick up, hard on the
\nbrakes, flop left at 85 if that. Its off camber, kiss the centre-line
\nmarkings with my toes but even then run a little wide on the exit. No
\nworries, up and over into the next righthander. This is the steepest part
\nof the hill and even cracking the throttle sends the speedo into illegal
\nfigures again. Brake hard, hard, up and over into the next left off-camber.
\nA couple of days ago a truck spilled gravel all over this and the previous
\ncorner, I almost became a failed hero in the car when I hit it and did a
\nRichard Welty-approved four wheel drift, inches away from an expensive
\nfence encounter. Up and over and hard right, here’s the Gracefield turnoff.<\/p>\n
A couple of cages go left, another stays straight. No worries, he’s a trier
\nin a hotted-up Escort but he’s well behind as I brake harder still, washing
\noff speed to take the next left-hander thats STILL off camber. Spoke to the
\nguy who designed the road, seems the usual cost-cutting stopped them from
\ndoing the earthworks to get the road properly cambered for every corner.
\nWind her out in third, right to redline, there’s a minor crest at the end
\nof the downhill straight followed by a left kink, hard right and then
\nlet go the anchor Cap’n cos’ here’s the 50 km\/h limit sign. Pull up behind
\nfamily saloon, let my girl putter along in top gear as I push my visor up
\ntwo clicks and watch the guys in the Escort come storming off the hill
\nand catch up.<\/p>\n
The kids in the car wave so I wave back. That just encourages them and
\nthey wave harder. Good stuff kids, one day you can have a big red bike
\nlike mine. If they’re not illegal by then, of course.<\/p>\n
Car turns off and I slide past, rear window a row of pink faces all
\ngrinning and waving and mouthing unheard words of encouragement. I toot
\nand wave and drop her three gears for a little bit of a wheelie, much
\nto their delight. Their grins are infectious.<\/p>\n
Escort pulls up beside me at the lights, boys out with their toy, revving
\nand wanting a drag. Shit guys, if you want a drag you’ll have to bring
\nout a better weapon than that. On the green they’re off in a cloud of oil
\nsmoke, good luck to them. I’ve had my fun, time to be sensible and
\ndefensive, so I leave the two Ruperts to it. There’s a particular kind
\nof music that a big bike makes when you’re just idling along. It’d sound
\nbetter with open pipes and no lid, maybe those Harley dudes know something
\nI don’t. I still wave to all the badass biker dudes in their flat-black
\npainted open face helmets, have done ever since I got my first bike. I
\nmust be looking older and meaner or something, ‘cos last week a REAL
\nbadass dude with long beard and Raybans and bugs in his teeth grinned and
\nwaved back when he putted by on his gorgeous looking glide. Maybe he’d
\njust had a carload of kids waving at him too.<\/p>\n
Ah well, enough musing. We’re here at the mall. Park my girl, into Farmers
\nto see about this leaking jug. Stand around in the kitchenware dept waiting
\nfor the dopey little bint to get off the phone and get around to serving me.
\n“Bought this here jug a few months back and it leaks.”
\n“You’ll have to take it to the television department, over there.”<\/p>\n
Great, really intuitive. Maybe they sell them as a TV accessory for ad
\nbreaks or something? Buggered if I know.<\/p>\n
“Bought this here jug a few months back and it leaks.”
\n“Got the receipt?”
\n“At home. You can see its pretty new though.”
\n“We’ll need the receipt, and we’ll send it off for repair.”
\n“Whaddya mean? It only needs a washer. I don’t want you to fix it, I only
\nwant a free washer under warranty and I’ll do it myself.”
\n“Can’t do that. We have to send it away, it’ll be back in two weeks.”
\n“Great, fine, have a nice day.”<\/p>\n
Asshole. Farmers Trading Company – FTC. Ha. No wonder they’re referred to
\nby the more scatalogious of us as Fuck The Customers. I bet his name was
\nbloody Rupert.<\/p>\n
Back to the carpark and back on my girl. You’ll never let me down. I don’t
\nsee YOUR washers leaking, not even after spending the last eighteen months
\noutside in the wind and rain and stuff. Nevermind girl, I’ll get a job
\nnext week and pretty soon we’ll have the dough to build a nice new shed
\nin the backyard where you can be warm and dry and I can have all my tools.
\nMust put some oil on those plugs, they’re covered in rust and salt on the
\noutside. Dunno what the gap is or how clean they are, they haven’t been
\ntouched in over a year. Probably rusted solid. Trouble is, preventative
\nmaintenance is the first thing that goes when you don’t have money coming
\nin and now things are fixed on an as broken basis. Apart from tyres and
\noil and petrol and a kludged zorst my girl hasn’t cost me a cent in the
\nlast year. So why does she still fire up on the first poke of the starter?
\nI wouldn’t. <\/p>\n
Click into first, tool slowly around the carpark and down the exit ramp.
\nThrough the side streets and pretty soon we’re at the bottom of the
\nWainui hill again, this time looking up at where we were only a few minutes
\nago. The encounter with the salescritters in Farmers has left me a little
\nannoyed, so I keep myself and my bike in check as we scoot up the first
\npart of the hill. Keep it down to the legal limit of 100 as we still go
\nsteaming past the cars in the two other lanes. No point in being a failed
\nhero. Failed hero marks can be found in the barriers all the way up the
\nhill and all the way down the other side. Some dozy bird in a Mini managed
\nto roll her car in peak hour traffic a couple of weeks back. Thought you
\nhad to be some sort of stunt driver to do that at those speeds.<\/p>\n
Anyway, lean lean lean left, a long lazy uphill sweeper. Toes point out,
\nafter they touch I’ve still got a long lean before the footpegs and
\ncentrestand even think of grounding. Lean a little more to the left to
\nkeep out of the gunk in mid-lane. WHOOMP! I’ve just kicked a catseye
\nreflector at 100km\/h. Yow! Hope I haven’t torn the toe off my boot. Stupid
\nbastard, teach me for letting my mind wander. One thing this hill demands
\nand thats respect. Up on the short straight and nope, boots OK and the
\nfeeling is returning to my toes again. Dopey prick.<\/p>\n
Over the top, a bit of traffic so just hold her at 100. Down the other
\nside there’s Elmer with a trailer doing 70 in the left lane, and someone
\nin the right doing 75. Must be called Rupert. I slow down and ever so
\nslowly the two dormant cagers draw apart. Wait until there’s around five
\nbike lengths between them and indicator on, check mirrors, drop two gears,
\ncheck over left shoulder, and its buckle up the harness Lieutenant the
\nafterburners are on and we’re going ballistic.<\/p>\n
Only until we’re past Rupert though, then its burners off and airbrakes on,
\ncruise around the right, brakes on, down to 65 for the lefthander. There’s
\npaint and scrapes and rubber marks all over the centre divider here. Never
\nforget the time Val and I were in the car coming home after a party at two
\nin the morning, round the corner at 80 and here’s a van on its roof in the
\nmiddle of the road, stoned passengers wandering around bleeding on the only
\nclear paths past the rec.auto. Just how do people throw it away on this
\nhill? Its not as if its not signposted or well known or anything. Best to
\nkeep the speed down to where you can stop short of anything untoward
\naround the bend. Just so you can be a target for the next Rupert to come
\nbombing round the corner at 85.<\/p>\n
Feeling peaceful and at one with the world, putt up to 120 and swoop past
\nonly one car before braking for the roundabout and merging in with the
\ncars. Amazing how relaxed I feel compared with in Farmers. Good therapeutic
\ninstruments for the soul, bikes.<\/p>\n
Visor up two clicks, into top gear, cruise along at 50km\/h again. Nothing
\nunusual, there’s a big blind spot right behind me. Every time I adjust the
\nmirrors to get rid of it I get a closeup of my elbows. When the workshop’s
\nbuilt I’ll make new mounting arms for them, a couple of inches lower and
\nfurther out. Be good there. What’s this, a new station wagon weaving in
\nand out of the cars behind me. This’ll be interesting, we’re coming up
\nto the single lane stretch before the Parkway turnoff. There’s not enough
\nroom for me AND a car, and stuffed if I’m going to move into the stones and
\nglass and crap to let a speeding cager through.<\/p>\n
A few seconds later I’m reconsidering. I’ve got a ton and a half of shiny
\nnew car around a foot off my rear tyre, and I don’t like it. Check the
\nmirror. Some bloody woman, would you believe! I would have been less
\nsurprised if it was a teenager in Daddy’s car, or a sales rep or something.
\nShe goes right, all the way right, as far as she can without hitting the
\ncentre divider. (We drive on the left here, DoDers.) That places her
\nfront left corner about five inches from my ass. There’s not enough room
\nthere you bitch, back off! I drop a cog and move ahead, giving me all of
\nfive yards to get out of trouble. <\/p>\n
Whoops, she’s back on my tail again. Shit, I’ve been tailgated before but
\nthis is fucking ridiculous. I’m going faster than I like, there’s traffic
\nand bicycles and a pedestrian crossing just ahead, but what would happen
\nif I so much as gently rolled off the throttle? Shit sandwich. No thanks.
\nThrough the intersection and back to a wider piece of road. OK bitch, have
\nall the road you want. Just leave my 6’x2′ piece outta your plans, all
\nright?<\/p>\n
I indicate left, check my mirrors and start to move over. Let the stupid
\ncow past. Ever wanted to know why the final look over your shoulder is
\ncalled the “lifesaver”? I found out. Mrs Fucking Rupert had cut to the
\nleft and was powering past, her right fender around four inches outboard
\nof my boot. <\/p>\n
Instinctively I countersteered to throw the bike right, at the same time
\nas I swung my boot out with all my might. I shouldn’t have countersteered,
\nI missed the bitch. Sorry Ilana, why do women become such dangerous bloody
\nshitbrains as soon as they are put in charge of something mechanical? This
\nwoman is enough to reinforce every negative stereotype ever invented. A
\nfew deep scars from my boot buckles might have just convinced this tart
\nthat I regarded my life with a little more respect and higher priority
\nthan she did. <\/p>\n
Spluttering with impotent (because I’d left the Sidewinders at home) rage,
\nI flicked my light on to high beam and gave the cow the biggest, meanest,
\nbadass biker dude two-finger salute imaginable. She kept on accelerating,
\nmust have one of the top 98-fastest accelerating cars I think. Three kids
\nin the back saw me insulting their mum and waved back. I gave them the
\nbird. They waved harder. Alright kids, you shall not be put to death
\nbecause of the sins of your misbegotten parent.<\/p>\n
I wanted to stop at the supermarket to buy some lunch, but hell, this
\nwoman was obviously a fire controller on the way to a blaze, or a doctor
\non the way to an accident. I pulled up behind her and followed them all
\nthe way down the main road at a consistent 80km\/h, only 60% overlimit.
\nMust be something pretty serious. I began to feel a little peeved at
\nmyself for not noticing that she was on a life-critical mission and
\nmoving over sooner. As we hit 85km\/h, I began composing an apology for
\nwhen we got to the fire\/accident scene.<\/p>\n
Through Homedale (turn left into Moores Valley Rd, first left, first
\nright, number 12, that’s my place) and over the bridge. Brakes on hard,
\nwhere’s she going? Oh, left. Left indicator came on just as she was
\naccelerating hard out of the intersection. Told you this was one of
\nthe 98 fastest accelerating cars ever. Driven by Mrs Rupert, anyway.<\/p>\n
Down a few blocks, past kids on bicycles and more kids playing with a
\nball on the side of the road. Good thing you’re on your way to an
\nemergency, lady, else you’d be on a sure winner for a careless driving
\nprize. Whoa, brakes on again. Left with no indicating, into Richard
\nProuse park. Well, well, well, whaddya know.<\/p>\n
No fire, no accident. The kids were late for their ball game. I checked
\nmy watch, exactly 12:58. Nice one, Mrs Rupert. Your kids are two minutes
\nearly. Hope you’re happy, they’d have been a fucking sight later than
\none o’clock if I’d become strawberry jam underneath your car. People
\nlike you should post to rec.autos. You’d feel at home there, you’ve only
\ngot a quarter of a brain and you’ve got your priorities all fucked up.
\nMaybe I should have just lain in the road and magnanamously said, “Look,
\nsorry I dented your front fender and got blood on your headlights, don’t
\nmind me, the ambulance will be here soon, off you go, get your kids to
\nthe park?” I bet you wouldn’t have even thanked me as you took off.<\/p>\n
Ride back to the supermarket, everythings a bit of an anticlimax now. I
\nwant to hit the open road out to the coast but not in my current mood.
\nWhy risk throwing my girl away just to let off steam? No, better to start
\nworrying about what I’m going to have for lunch and get it home.<\/p>\n
Got home, parked my bike under the carport and lock her. How many of you
\nguys pat your bike’s seat and thank her for doing a good job, praise her
\nfor a good run? She’s got me home safe and sound all this time, she
\ndeserves a pat every now and again.<\/p>\n
I’ve had her nearly seven years and still haven’t got a name for her. A
\nfellow Usenetter from Pommyland called his GT Candy. Great name, wish I’d
\nthought of it. Really appropriate with the deep, lustrous, wine red candy
\npaintwork of the kwacker. Best alternative I’ve come up with yet is Cherry,
\nbut I’m still undecided. Maybe she should just remain “my girl”.<\/p>\n
If you’ve persevered this far, thanks. Thought you’d like to know of a
\nday’s adventures for man and bike in good ol’ New Zealand. Toodle pip.<\/p>\n
PS Keep the name suggestions coming through… also let me know if you
\nguys want to see any further postings of this size every now and again
\nwhen the writing bug takes me…<\/p>\n
Regards
\nThe Bear<\/p>\n
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\nDownloaded from The Cave BBS (Wellington, NZ)
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