My father said to me, “Stay off motorcycles. Stay out of bars.”
After I bought my motorcycle I said to my father, “One out of two ain’t bad.”
I rode my motorcycle Thursday. I had not ridden for over a year. I had not taken it out for that length of time and had my reasons. When I took the tarp off the bike in the garage Thursday morning I had another.
I couldn’t ride.
At least not yet.
There’s nothing wrong with the motorcycle. Mechanically it’s fine.
New battery a couple years ago. Best I could buy. Top of the line. Recommended by the dealer for the bike. I plugged it into a trickle charger Wednesday night to be sure. The little yellow light on the charger went from yellow to amber after a few hours. All good.
New tires. Same quality. High grade. Professionally balanced the mounted. Lots of tread. No sign of wear.
Everything the way I left it before the loss of a sister and the drama of her passing. Major surgery to replace my worn out left shoulder with steel and nylon and otherwise another year of aches and pains and taxes and utilities, shoveling snow and disappointments, but mechanically there’s nothing wrong.
It’s just the bike got so dirty.
Chrome covered with dust and fly specks and the black enamel paint just as bad. No scratches, dents or damage, nothing but the evidence of disuse and time without utilization.
Bad enough.
Answered the question, “Am I ready to ride?”
“No.”
The answer is No.
So began the process with rags and solvents and polish and compressed air and mild abrasives and rough one sided synthetic sponges and two tire gauges to guarantee accuracy. Twenty-nine pounds per square inch front and back tire pressure cold. I have the number written with pencil on the white cabinet door beside my work bench.
I started at the front of the bike and worked my way to the tail light on the starboard side, easy because the bike lists to port on the kickstand, then up the port side to the front of the bike, moving it a few inches forward from time to time to access the rims between the spokes all the way around.
I wore knee pads.
Pavement is unforgiving.
Remember when you ride a motorcycle.
After a few hours and a break for lunch about four in the afternoon I turned the key and the bike fired on full choke. The gas in the tank had been sitting a long time and the carburetor had a sore throat. I pulled onto the street in first and stalled. So I pushed in the choke, pulled it out, pushed it in and out a few times held down the start button and off I went.
Now with more gas in the line than I would have preferred going faster than I wanted, going going all the same gone through the gears for the first time in a long time and oh so sweet to the intersection at the bottom of the hill and the first stop sign. I let traffic clear to avoid another stall that would leave me a duck sitting in the middle of the intersection and off again for the rest of the ride.
Only a few miles.
The bike performed perfectly. All clean and shiny and that’s the end of the story and the beginning of the moral.
There is a moral.
There should be.
It’s like a destination.
Get ready to ride.
It’s an attitude. The attitude translates into an appearance. The appearance translates into a performance. The performance translates back into an attitude.
You get off the same you you got on.
Ready to ride.
If you’re not ready don’t ride.
ƒ