General Bike Ravings

Well, that was a fine how do you do... went with Captain Banzai and parked up outside Auckland Pubic Libararyry, we trudged up to the rotunda in Albert park and hobnobbed amongst a gathering of filthy treachery types - I was in my best Spartan armour and everyone was in fashionable black.

Usual windage about treacher's rights and wrongs and boo-hoos, stood there in the shade like a muppet for a hour waiting for the muster.

Desultory cheers, jeers and speeches, plenty ...

For over 30 years my father has had a BSA B33 sitting under a sheet in a partially restored condition. It hasn't run since at least 1987 (the date on the newspaper that was taped over the petrol tank) but was in the process of being restored before that so it wouldn't have run for a fair while before then. So, unfortunately, this bike has spent the vast majority of it's life in a partially disassembled state.

The history of this bike is that it was originally owned by my fathers ...

So now that you have read all the good bits, I expect that I am not extrapolating the last of my ride to an empty room … oh look, a tumbleweed just went by … and the chirp of a grasshopper … verily well, I shall still potter on about the last bit of the trip in my own interminable fashion then!

Out to Waiouru again, all was good, the carpet of snow showed just how much fell quickly – I was now caught in a logjam of vehicles that were trying to push through the adverse driving ...

And now my intrepid audience (all two of you, and the cat reading over your shoulder), I shall delve into the horror that is known as Ashhurst …

It was a dark and stormy night … er wait, it was a sullen night, with a churlish moon hanging low in the dark sky, it was near the time of 5am when I turned into the town of Ashhurst .. and I was trying to find the road that was a nice bit of twisty (Colyton Rd I do believe). Well I made a turn and ended up in a very rough muddy and ...

Before we continue on with my errant stream of consciousness, some facts about my dear Cindi, or CB1000R Predator – they say that it was conceived on the drawing table at Honda, when there was a lapdancing good time girl jiggling her bits at the chief engineer or another apocryphal story goes that a CBR1000RR got it on with a 900F Hornet. But, we all just know it as the CB1000R Predator.

Now DONOR did post in his “Scrubbing in New Tyres” thread that I would be down at BK on ...

Still with me? I admire your persistence and veracity for applying yourself to my litany of lambast to the life of the ride I like to live! So, on we shall go!

From Waiouru to Taihape, there was serendipitous moment, as the snow receded, the state of the road conditions improving, a small unbidden thought came to my mind.

“Cindi”.

Que vera que?

“Cindi”.

A small voice at the back of my mind spoke to me, it was my ...

Now, I have just finished a slap up feed of lamb, roast veges and the ubiquitous lashings of mint sauce. My dearest mater is a most wondrous cook and since it is Pater’s day, she whipped up some nosh that hit the cockles of the heart just right. Pater is now mopping up the leftovers and I durst say his belt has had to be loosened a few notches somewhat. But, back to my sally into the snow drenched deposits in the dark parts of the night in Middle Earth! (oh alright, Waiouru!)
...

Now where was I? I was distracted by some enticing etchings that purport to be of some magnificent ladies in various states of repose and undress, all done in the best possible taste! Ah, but such delights for another time, I shall return to my dissertations of my diurnal wanderings ...

The light snow drifts turned into rock hard hail, the fact I could feel the impacts through my layers of gear was not noticed due to a Van Halens and Deth Metal concert with a drum and bass solo reverberating ...