Good Samaritan

My relationship almost ended today.

Finally, Charlie and I found a garage for our motorcycles. It is a mile from our house, has power, and very easily houses both of our bikes. Three if you count my donor bike. In the name of starting to make real progress on my bike, we decided this was the weekend to move it.

This blistering hot day.

I suppose it needed to happen regardless. Some dillhole repeated decides he needs to park a mere four inches away from my bike…which has potential to cause a domino effect with the other three bikes parked next to me that would be much more expensive and less cool than this.

We took the cover off my bike, and decided who was going to push and who was going to steer. We thought it would be a good idea for me to steer, because I don’t have nearly the amount of strength that he has. We were so, so wrong. We barely got it across the street and onto the sidewalk before we realized that the bike was dragging to the right.

Him: ¬†“Don’t pull on the handlebars. Just keep the bars straight–the bike will want to stay up on its own if we get it to go fast enough.”
Me: “I can’t keep up with you and keep the bars straight. It keeps pulling to the right!”

The struggle was real as we tried to advance across the intersection. He would push, and I would hit my heels on the peg. It didn’t hurt so much, as I was afraid of it getting caught over my heel, and then I’d end up on the ground…probably with a motorcylce frame on top of me. My first accident would happen before the damn thing was even operational. That thought process may seem ridiculous, but that’s because you don’t know me. Charlie at least knows I’m prone to having this sort of thing happen to me.

Once we got it onto the next block, I had to stop. Flip flops would not do. I marched on back to our house and put on my gardening tennis shoes¬†with much chagrin after Charlie pleaded with me to change my shoes. It was was time to get serious. As much as I was already unhappy with how insistent he was on “just keeping the bars straight,” I knew he was right about my footware.

By this time, we could not have made it 100 feet even. We were firmly on the struggle bus, and it only continued as we attempted to continue to push it. We would never make it a mile. Between the sweat, my lack of arm strength, and my fear of an embarrassing fall, we were never going to make it. I found myself increasingly frustrated with the situation and him for thinking that it should be so easy. After another stop at the end of the first block (out of 14), we decided to switch jobs.

He decided to steer…thankfully. Thankfully, because he realized, too that the bike was pulling to the right. At least I was absolved of any feelings of inferiority. Vindication is a sweet, sweet thing. This set up was infinitely better for us. We successfully made it two blocks with much less blood and tears (there was plenty of sweat to be had, though).

Charlie: “You know what would be tits right now?”
Me: “What?”
Charlie: “If a good samaritan pulled up with a truck, a ramp, and an offer to help.”
Me: “We should just take this damned thing back. We’re never going to make it.”

We persisted, though.

Literally, the next block, we were stopped by a man asking, “do you need help?”

Should be obvious, bro.

He offered to put the bike in the back of his pick-up truck and take us to the garage.

Praise be to the Motorcycle Gods, who took mercy on our souls.

The catch: There was no ramp.

Given our incredible fortune–and the perfect-ness of what just transpired, we were determined to make it happen. I played cheerleader as I watched Charlie and this large Jamaican hero named Chris lift the bike and push it into the bed of the truck. I could not believe what I just saw, or our incredible fortune.

Charlie sat in the back to keep the bike stable, and I sat up front with Chris, who told me how he had come to be at that exact spot that day. He also reminisced riding his Suzuki in Jamaica when he was younger until his friend died in a motorcycle accident and his mom implored him to give up riding.

We got to the garage (much quicker than Charlie and I covered a block), and they “caught” the bike as I helped make sure the front end was stable coming out.

So with that, I want to give a big shout-out to Chris, who saved my relationship. Charlie and I could not have done it without him.

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Success!

After not all that much searching, we found a garage that will be ideal for working on our bikes. Before, we were working on it in the street, and only during daylight hours.

This move will be pivotal for the following reasons:

  • No more cars parking right next to where we’re working. That four inches of space was not conducive to squatting.
  • No more kids playing with our rides.
  • No more packing up all the tools and parts to test-ride.
  • No more packing up all the tools and parts to go inside.
  • No more quitting because of the dark.

Time to get the hell outta the “motorcycle room” upstairs, and time to move to our garage…like big kids!

VROOM!

12 O’Clock Boys

I’ve gotta watch this documentary. We’ve seen these guys once in DC, and while the volume of noise annoyed the piss out of me, I was nevertheless impressed by the number of young men riding on dirtbikes through the city. Now knowing they came from Baltimore on dirtbikes is increasing my appreciation…I’m all for the police cracking down, but I don’t mind watching from my porch!

http://www.vice.com/read/the-wheelying-dirt-bike-gangs-of-baltimore-twelve-o-clock-boyz-lofty-nathan

Double Vision

So…I decided that I needed to out-badass my boyfriend by owning two times as many motorcycles as he does.

We have forsaken the World Cup game in favor of going to McLean to check out another motorcycle. Charlie found a 1977 KZ650 on craigslist that was going for a decent price. I inquired on Friday, but fretted all weekend that I would not get it and my hopes would be DASHED!

But HARK! My gmail brought me good news when the owner reached out to me, confirming that the bike was still for sale and there was also a title in it for me! What’s more, he was available to show me the bike the next day.

The stars were aligning for me…something like this:

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As it turns out, “the next day” was today. Charlie and I ventured out to McLean (poor Tim Howard), and met up with the owner.

The bike is in really great condition, and I was thoroughly impressed with it. I was even more pleased to know that the seller was NOT a total dill-hole like the first guy who sold us a KZ. Some inspection ensued, a little negotiating, and an exchange!

I am now a happy owner of a second KZ, that will invariably become my primary bike, and I will be cannibalizing my basket case to make this new bike run.

Anyway. It looks like I will have a fully operational motorcycle much sooner than I thought. Stay tuned for rapid progress! (ESPECIALLY BECAUSE WE HAVE A GARAGE NOW!)