sinbin
Well-known member
Warning: Long Read
Synopsis: I rebuilt engine over winter
We’ve been together a while, and share a birthday. Where I’m temperamental, she is patient, where I panic, she is calm and where I persist, she is steadier yet. My old Seven Fiddy Gixxer, has seen me through my M2 exam, thrilled me with power slides on curves, shaken her head at undue heavy handedness and introduced me to the stupid stick many a times, but has always brought me to my destination, sometimes with worry creasing my brow, and most of the remaining time with smirks and smiles drawn across my surly visage.
While this original of the muscle bikes has it’s moments as it must, it’s kindly machine soul must be aware of the incessant attention it receives from her rider. Such attentions have acquainted me with every crevice and every bearing on her. And this past winter I decided it was time to refresh her innards, possibly much to her disappointment as she approaches the 20[SUP]th[/SUP], and hopes to be put to pasture in an enthusiast’s barn, or to expire peacefully at one of the many wrecking yards that dot the landscape. Yes-my heart too quaked at the thought of my beloved flung askew into her place of irrelevance amongst unending lines of her brethren –all waiting patiently for eager hands to remove yet more of what once made them whole. Thus began the many hours of research, planning, patient re-planning, more research and re-planning, silent and sometimes voluminous cursing, and wonder at the wisdom of the words, “when you plan a rebuild, take your time and cost estimate and double them”. Bubba! You done got that right!
After a winter spend shivering in a sub-zero garage, of which discomfort I have endured far worse and therefore the circumstance presents relative comfort compared to my past experiences in the wilderness of the Great White north, I finally found myself dead lifting and carrying the Boss’ heart up the basement stairs following final assembly. One must admit that the sheer terror of coating bearing and journals with the dust and grime that accumulated over the winter, in the garage drove me to complete the final assembly in the basement. Two things reigned supreme in my heart at that time. The first was the realization that dead lifting 300 odd wasn’t as easy for me as it used to be and the other that there was the realistic danger of cracking the stairs on the way up. Nevertheless one made it safely up the stairs and a week later the moment came where I waited with thumb poised over the start button to say a quick prayer before pressing it tentatively….when no result made itself apparent I pressed more firmly and then hurriedly turned on the ignition button and pressed yet again, while laughing at my moment of panic. The clicking of the RS carbs and the whine of the new engine were like music, and I continued to watch for a full second before the oil light extinguished itself and provided final confirmation that all was well.
So this past Sunday I found myself lazing on thick green grass beside the Boss (also leaning lazily on her sidestand), while I suspiciously regard the three leaved plant (poison ivy??) in close proximity of the itchy spot on my forearm. Niagara on the lake is beautiful, and at 6 in the morning, I basked in the morning sunlight and smiled with satisfaction as I recalled the ride there. The first gear terror, the urgent tug in 5[SUP]th[/SUP], were delicious results of the miserable menu the winters work had presented me with. As I lazily looked past the Boss at the man on the other side of the road, who was ruining my view, and in khaki and bankers pink, put on his Prada (or whatever is in vogue these days) sunglasses, and pause momentarily to regard his Blackberry, blow away a speck of dust from the immaculately waxed exterior, before gingerly seating himself in his BMW SUV, I had to suppress my wide smile, in case he mistook it as envious admiration for his ride. We both knew what was up that early morning, the Old Gyal and I.
Synopsis: I rebuilt engine over winter
We’ve been together a while, and share a birthday. Where I’m temperamental, she is patient, where I panic, she is calm and where I persist, she is steadier yet. My old Seven Fiddy Gixxer, has seen me through my M2 exam, thrilled me with power slides on curves, shaken her head at undue heavy handedness and introduced me to the stupid stick many a times, but has always brought me to my destination, sometimes with worry creasing my brow, and most of the remaining time with smirks and smiles drawn across my surly visage.
While this original of the muscle bikes has it’s moments as it must, it’s kindly machine soul must be aware of the incessant attention it receives from her rider. Such attentions have acquainted me with every crevice and every bearing on her. And this past winter I decided it was time to refresh her innards, possibly much to her disappointment as she approaches the 20[SUP]th[/SUP], and hopes to be put to pasture in an enthusiast’s barn, or to expire peacefully at one of the many wrecking yards that dot the landscape. Yes-my heart too quaked at the thought of my beloved flung askew into her place of irrelevance amongst unending lines of her brethren –all waiting patiently for eager hands to remove yet more of what once made them whole. Thus began the many hours of research, planning, patient re-planning, more research and re-planning, silent and sometimes voluminous cursing, and wonder at the wisdom of the words, “when you plan a rebuild, take your time and cost estimate and double them”. Bubba! You done got that right!
After a winter spend shivering in a sub-zero garage, of which discomfort I have endured far worse and therefore the circumstance presents relative comfort compared to my past experiences in the wilderness of the Great White north, I finally found myself dead lifting and carrying the Boss’ heart up the basement stairs following final assembly. One must admit that the sheer terror of coating bearing and journals with the dust and grime that accumulated over the winter, in the garage drove me to complete the final assembly in the basement. Two things reigned supreme in my heart at that time. The first was the realization that dead lifting 300 odd wasn’t as easy for me as it used to be and the other that there was the realistic danger of cracking the stairs on the way up. Nevertheless one made it safely up the stairs and a week later the moment came where I waited with thumb poised over the start button to say a quick prayer before pressing it tentatively….when no result made itself apparent I pressed more firmly and then hurriedly turned on the ignition button and pressed yet again, while laughing at my moment of panic. The clicking of the RS carbs and the whine of the new engine were like music, and I continued to watch for a full second before the oil light extinguished itself and provided final confirmation that all was well.
So this past Sunday I found myself lazing on thick green grass beside the Boss (also leaning lazily on her sidestand), while I suspiciously regard the three leaved plant (poison ivy??) in close proximity of the itchy spot on my forearm. Niagara on the lake is beautiful, and at 6 in the morning, I basked in the morning sunlight and smiled with satisfaction as I recalled the ride there. The first gear terror, the urgent tug in 5[SUP]th[/SUP], were delicious results of the miserable menu the winters work had presented me with. As I lazily looked past the Boss at the man on the other side of the road, who was ruining my view, and in khaki and bankers pink, put on his Prada (or whatever is in vogue these days) sunglasses, and pause momentarily to regard his Blackberry, blow away a speck of dust from the immaculately waxed exterior, before gingerly seating himself in his BMW SUV, I had to suppress my wide smile, in case he mistook it as envious admiration for his ride. We both knew what was up that early morning, the Old Gyal and I.
