Ghosts
Looking through the shed the other day, for no particular reason, revealed some
ghosts. I'll set the scene first.
Her Ladyship and I bought this desirable plot (house and all the attendant disasters)
with the assistance of Peter Smith, who is top of Ms M's huggable list. A possibly
insane man with two brains, with the looks of an axe murderer with a limp, has
that effect on some highly intelligent women, in my experience.
Smiff, M and self surveyed the property by scuttling down the driveway, completely
ignoring the house, and assessing the shed. Big enough for a large car, an outfit,
three or four solos and assorted junk, it passed muster. Then, reluctantly,
we turned to the house. Fortunately Smith took this part seriously, and his
judgement (buy it) has since been proved right.
Inside Chez Shed today are Ms M's restored and near-immaculate HZ sedan, Shaun
the ST1100, her long-suffering CBX550, a couple of test bikes (a sexy warmed
up Triumph T509 and sleek Honda Ace 1100), daughter Althea's Z50 and my Hodaka
Ace 100B. The Suzuki GS1000G sidecar outfit is away being re-engineered by Dr
Gange, who we may introduce in a future episurd.
Then there's the camping gear, a bunch of bicycles that see too little use,
some boxes of motorcycle posters awaiting the purchase of a bigger house so
we can actually have space to look at them, and a couple of toolboxes, the bench,
and a big rack of bike mags, books, audio tapes, videos...stuff.
Sometimes when I walk in I don't see the machinery and junk, but the people
who have been involved in getting the mess to its current stage.
One scene which springs to mind is photographer Muttley and self, three sheets
to the wind or very Franz List, disassembling an engine. An ugly scene which
I'd prefer not to repeat, though I had to admire his presence of mind (using
the term loosely) when he gently took the chisel and hammer out of my paws.
I reluctantly accepted his advice that while workshop manuals lie about the
number of bolts used to fix a cylinder head, that's no reason to resort to mining
tools.
There's plenty of other ghosts. Making sense of the Triumph 1200's jetting is
one, or struggling with the GSX1100 top-end and being rewarded with a dyno chart
that said it was better than standard.
Sometimes it was just a warm night – too warm to spend in the house –
and rifling through the odd-ball publications in the shelves. Or watching Andrea,
an English woman used to spearing her VW Golf down south-west county (UK) country
lanes, fire up Margaret's V-eight Holden. The grin was too broad to describe.
Perhaps working on a recently-bought bike I chased 20 years ago, then owned
by Muz the Turk. Different ghosts, same shed.
My favourite ghost, though, is the one to come. Walking out to the back yard,
slapping the door open, and watching it spring up is full of promise. As it
whines and arcs toward the morning sun, just missing the kids' basketball ring,
it opens up new adventures. Where are we going today? In/on which toy?
Having decided those basics, you wander in and select the vehicle and warm it
up. Then there's the clothing. Jacket, helmet, gloves – and go through
the ritual of suiting up. Jon Wright of sister mag Motor describes the result
of getting dressed for a ride as, "You look like an alien and can still
be a human being."
When you've gone to all that trouble, no matter where you're going, there are
the ghosts of rides past. Even if you're just going down to the local shop for
a bucket of milk.
My belief with riding ghosts is that there are bad and good ones. The bad is
memories of old mistakes but, much more worrying, is thinking about ghosts of
crashes that could happen. Sometimes my lower right leg aches in anticipation
of some non-existant disaster. It has to be shut out.
Because there are good ghosts – the fantasies of carving a nice line through
a road you've never seen before. When you meet that road, carving a nice line
seems familiar and easy. Sometimes you have to seek out the opportunity.
Ghosts? Maybe it's just paranoia. Motorcycling takes a degree of courage and
madness, which is what makes it interesting. Meeting the wraiths in the shed
is just a bonus...
Guy "Guido" Allen
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