Hopefully in the right place.
Spent a couple hours at the dealer's fine establishment ferreting though mountains of protective kit this 'beautiful' Spring day in Jafaville. I'd foolishly imagined that I could make do with my old stuff and trawled through the junk room (posh name for my garage) looking for it all.
Somehow in my imagination it was all quite cool, sexy, tech looking and would fit like a glove, (at least the gloves would). Bzzzzttt - wrong.
The bits that would still allow themselves to be installed on my body had mysteriously transformed themselves into ancient, almost comical caricatures of bikerwear. Take the helmet, for example.
When I bought it, what on earth was I thinking? - It's a Simpson, Darth Vader-ish, infant and horse-terrifying in its imposing 20-kilo fibreglass presence. And judging by the accumulated guano adorning the interior, home for a family of incontinent bats that have dwelt there for the last decade.
Conveniently it had slipped my memory that my much beloved Belstaff Enduro-Whizz® jacket had been pressed into service as protection on a mad outing involving me being hit with countless paintballs. Whatever unearthly compound paintballs are made from, it adheres nicely and permanently to the coarse weave of the Belstaff Wheelie-Jock® jacket giving serious comouflage benefits if you're ever involved in a war in a paint factory. But not much else. The plus side was that thanks to various elasticated nick-nacks and straps and zips, it still fit. A moot point though I fear.
The pants. Well, that just wasn't going to be a happening thing. Those things had shrunk soooo much. I mean, surely I should be able to sue somebody over that. But enough said. The pants were, as our American cuzzies would say, 'pants'.
I've always believed that if you spend some serious coin on the best boots you can afford, you'll never regret it. What a pillock. If you leave $300 road boots in the garage for 15 years, they end up the texture of mummified buffalo tendons. Scratch the boots.
I knew the gloves would be good as I've worn them over the years for skiing, snowboarding, plumbing duties, delivering babies and welding. So, they fit beautifully but smell a little funky and the stitching has come adrift at several critical juntures. But they fit beautifully. Ah bugger it, they'll look like cr@p compared all the other kit. Bin the gloves.
So, as I hinted at the start of this epic, I have seen the light. And the quote, and it was a thing of knuckle-whitening proportions. I can hardly type for the dollariums-tremens that have afflicted my Scottish heart and soul.
I will have some other comments in a later post, but for now, best I go have a cup of tea and a wee lie-down.
Cheers,
Andy.
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Originally Posted by slofox
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