Ixion
15th June 2006, 13:23
Oh dear. Such dramas my dear.
Off to werk, fire up Ratty, curse the shitty weather, off down the drive, all good.
Down the road a few hundred yards, to the nasty steep downhill give way corner.
Prod the rear brake to slow for the corner. Eeeek - shit why's the rear wheel decided go exploring. Not to mention that it's not actually doing the slowing down thing. And the corner now decidedly close. Oh well, wet roads can be slippery, and the rear wheel will come running back sometime with its tail between its legs. Time to call in Mr Front Brake, no nonsense here.
Yeeeeeekk . And double yeeek. With a Yikkkkes for good measure. Now the front wheel has also decided to play slip slidies. Stick out a foot and a quick prayer to the Biker Gods, and , hey, whadda ya know, I'm actually round the corner, still sort of sideways , but more less facing the correct way. Interesting way to go through a corner on seal, but anyway.
Triple eeek. And WTF. Where did all that oil on the road come from . No wonder I skidded like a skiddy thing. What blanketty cunt etc etc .
Oh, so THAT'S where the oil came from. Pissing out the front of my engine!
Oh dear. Oh Deary me. Oh buggery . Oh my sainted head gasket!
Stop. Curse. Blaspheme. Inspect. With profanity. Hm. Hang on. Woz that honking big hole in the front of the cylinder head. Exposing all the camshaffty goodness of the INSIDE of the head. THAT didn't use to be there! (Well, the camshaffty goodness presumably was, but not the hole)
Ah. That's where the decompressor went, on a previous incarnation of these engines. There should be a Welch plug in there , blanking it off.
No plug. Big hole. Oil comes out of big hole. Bugger. Still, better than a blown head gasket.
Stuff some rag in hole. Check oil level, still some left. Proceed VERY slowly back up road admiring the pretty colours the rain is making. Hm. Pretty colours stop there. And woz that lying on the road. Ahaha. A welch plug.
Collect plug. Limp home.
Heap obloquies on the head of Mr Biff. I blame him. He's welch. He should make his plugs better. All his fault. Always like to have someone to blame. It's a Kiwi thing.
No time to sort it now, I'm late for werk. Put Ratty in gargre in disgrace, pull Petal out. Oh bother, the battery's as flat as a rather flat thing. Good job the Titan is kick start and magneto, then. Battery, samttery, who needs them. Love magnetos I do. And kick starts.
Off again, in a cloud of lovely two stroke smoke.
Tootle along, down the muddlway, down Cavendish Drive.
Two lanes, I'm in the left, minding my own business, when a old brown ute hurtles up past me in the right lane, dives in front of me, and slams on his brakes preparatory to a dive into a driveway.
Oh goshes. Still no big drama, he's not too close, cos I slowed when he dived in front of me. And , without a nice layer of oil to complicate things ,a reasonable application of front brake will keep me clear of his rear. Just part of life's rich tapestry.
Hang on a mo, though. Wozz that in the back of the ute, resting on the tail gate and sticking a couple of metres behind the rear of the ute.
Oh yeah. A honking long length of steel tube. Hm, and where's the (unflagged) end of said tube? Oh yeah, there. Pointing at, hmm , yes, indeed, pointing very nicely at my head. Gulp, I don't really feel like having a four inch hole punched in my head this morning.
Suddenly the distance adequate for an emergency stop has been reduced by about two metres . Leaving a rather INadequate distance.
Lucky bikes is manoeverable , isn't it.
Golly, I still have to get home again. Wonder what else will happen!
Off to werk, fire up Ratty, curse the shitty weather, off down the drive, all good.
Down the road a few hundred yards, to the nasty steep downhill give way corner.
Prod the rear brake to slow for the corner. Eeeek - shit why's the rear wheel decided go exploring. Not to mention that it's not actually doing the slowing down thing. And the corner now decidedly close. Oh well, wet roads can be slippery, and the rear wheel will come running back sometime with its tail between its legs. Time to call in Mr Front Brake, no nonsense here.
Yeeeeeekk . And double yeeek. With a Yikkkkes for good measure. Now the front wheel has also decided to play slip slidies. Stick out a foot and a quick prayer to the Biker Gods, and , hey, whadda ya know, I'm actually round the corner, still sort of sideways , but more less facing the correct way. Interesting way to go through a corner on seal, but anyway.
Triple eeek. And WTF. Where did all that oil on the road come from . No wonder I skidded like a skiddy thing. What blanketty cunt etc etc .
Oh, so THAT'S where the oil came from. Pissing out the front of my engine!
Oh dear. Oh Deary me. Oh buggery . Oh my sainted head gasket!
Stop. Curse. Blaspheme. Inspect. With profanity. Hm. Hang on. Woz that honking big hole in the front of the cylinder head. Exposing all the camshaffty goodness of the INSIDE of the head. THAT didn't use to be there! (Well, the camshaffty goodness presumably was, but not the hole)
Ah. That's where the decompressor went, on a previous incarnation of these engines. There should be a Welch plug in there , blanking it off.
No plug. Big hole. Oil comes out of big hole. Bugger. Still, better than a blown head gasket.
Stuff some rag in hole. Check oil level, still some left. Proceed VERY slowly back up road admiring the pretty colours the rain is making. Hm. Pretty colours stop there. And woz that lying on the road. Ahaha. A welch plug.
Collect plug. Limp home.
Heap obloquies on the head of Mr Biff. I blame him. He's welch. He should make his plugs better. All his fault. Always like to have someone to blame. It's a Kiwi thing.
No time to sort it now, I'm late for werk. Put Ratty in gargre in disgrace, pull Petal out. Oh bother, the battery's as flat as a rather flat thing. Good job the Titan is kick start and magneto, then. Battery, samttery, who needs them. Love magnetos I do. And kick starts.
Off again, in a cloud of lovely two stroke smoke.
Tootle along, down the muddlway, down Cavendish Drive.
Two lanes, I'm in the left, minding my own business, when a old brown ute hurtles up past me in the right lane, dives in front of me, and slams on his brakes preparatory to a dive into a driveway.
Oh goshes. Still no big drama, he's not too close, cos I slowed when he dived in front of me. And , without a nice layer of oil to complicate things ,a reasonable application of front brake will keep me clear of his rear. Just part of life's rich tapestry.
Hang on a mo, though. Wozz that in the back of the ute, resting on the tail gate and sticking a couple of metres behind the rear of the ute.
Oh yeah. A honking long length of steel tube. Hm, and where's the (unflagged) end of said tube? Oh yeah, there. Pointing at, hmm , yes, indeed, pointing very nicely at my head. Gulp, I don't really feel like having a four inch hole punched in my head this morning.
Suddenly the distance adequate for an emergency stop has been reduced by about two metres . Leaving a rather INadequate distance.
Lucky bikes is manoeverable , isn't it.
Golly, I still have to get home again. Wonder what else will happen!