What is it about me and suboptimal experiences at bike shops?
I'd like to think I'm a nice guy who is sometimes pleasant, kind to children and small animals, who pays his taxes, saves his pennies and likes to spend loose change on motorcycles, their maintenance and associated accessories.
One would think that bike shops should be a healthy adjunct to somebody with such a mindset. But on many occasions I have walked from shops completely unsatisfied, even incensed, by what should have been pleasurable having been turned into something disturbingly frustrating.
Over the past six weeks, six hours, six minutes and six seconds (not that I am obsessive about this by any means) since I sent by beloved ST down the road at Bulls and in the process broke a collarbone, helmet and vented jacket, I have been pacing breathlessly waiting for the moment I could ride again. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a melon...
With time and lack of opportunity in bucketloads, I find my mind wanders.
I still don't have a helmet (thanks, Whites), so couldn't ride even if I was able to sneak out under cover of darkness and hotwire Mrs H's Marauder in a massive act of desperation.
And another of life's mysteries is when I can expect to receive a rideable ST1300. Mrs H and I called in at ANZA on Sunday, while returning from New Plymouth in the c.a.r., to see where things were at. After trying to engage with some of the employees, I went for a walk around the workshop to have a looksee. No bike in evidence. So I left, after having sought answers, with more questions. I simmered until Otaki.
Other recent thoughts have been along the lines of "Should I sell the ST and buy something else?"
Like a Breva 1100?
Or sell the ST and buy two bikes -- like a Hornet and a Wee-Strom?
Or a Mean Streak and a ER6F?
Or trade up the ST to a newer one with an electric screen and ABS?
The demented ravings of the desperately bikeless. Pitiful.
But then comes the kicker. To do any of this, I would have to engage with (shock, horror) a bike shop. Or, more relevantly, a bike shop staffed with sales people who give a shit. And crashing back to reality I come.
What I need is a "Wanted to buy" advertisement, and see what (if any interest) I can generate through that avenue. The thought of waiting for small eternities in motorcycle showrooms while salespeople (if they exist at all, like the Marie Celeste Honda dealership in Lower Hutt) talk to their girlfriends on the phone or stare endlessly at a V-rod muffler that somebody has left on the counter to see if the part number is in Sansrit or Erdu, quite frankly, shits me to tears.
Maybe I'm not cut out to be a consumer. Maybe I just need a ride.
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