My bike likes to go. She needs a lot of exercise, rather like a large dog. So I took advantage of a dry clear Sunday and went off for a leisurely ride.
Well, that was the plan.
I took off the cover, unlocked the various locks, pulled out the choke and turned the key. All fine, all eager for the treat. I opened the throttle, thinking the bike could warm up while I strapped my bag on the back. She coughed as she always does, and choked and died.
Uh-oh.
I turned the ignition off. She started ticking, like a bomb. Double uh-oh.
And gulp, for good measure.
Turning the key back to 'on' stopped the ticking, but didn't help the engine start. Turning it off just started up the ticking. Now, the battery's new, and expensive. I put it in just before the Cascais trip. If that had died I was ready to spit and scream and threaten to sue.
Lynn walked suspiciously around the bike and tried the key for herself. Same result. We speculated about possible reasons for this sudden sullen fit the bike was having. She got on in order to roll it forward from the wall a bit - and suddenly the bomb was defused and the engine suddenly started.
Apparently the bomb effect was just a temper tantrum. Damn bike. Probably worried I wasn't actually riding, but jsut turning the engine over. But maybe I shouldn't go on any diets if rider weight is what makes the bike go...
Well, that's my excuse anyway. Pass the chocolate.
Wednesday 12 September 2012
2-wheels, engine optional
I'm a biker. You know this: it is, after all, the premise of this blog. But I cycle to work, largely as an excuse not to join a gym and because I resent the hell out of rail-fares. And I wonder, as I struggle through the traffic every rush hour about the difference between cyclists and bikers.
There's a freemasonry to bikers. Most bikers are aware of other bikers, and even if we don't greet each other during the week or the commute, we still tend to give each other space, allow each other through.
Cyclists, on the other hand, are about as ego-centric a bunch of narcissists as you could ever hope to avoid. They cut each other up, they push each other out of the way - and this isn't competitive cycling. this is (mamil) road-rage in the daily commute.
Breathe, people. No, seriously. Breathe. There are no medals up for grabs today.
Maybe it's because bikers are seen as more intimidating and formidable with loud pipes, black leather and potentially dangerous affiliations, and cyclists are seen as somewhat more squashable, at least by anything on 4 wheels. Maybe that's why bikers tend to be more accepting of other bikers than cyclists are of other bicycles. But still - could you lot on bicycles please grow up?
There's a freemasonry to bikers. Most bikers are aware of other bikers, and even if we don't greet each other during the week or the commute, we still tend to give each other space, allow each other through.
Cyclists, on the other hand, are about as ego-centric a bunch of narcissists as you could ever hope to avoid. They cut each other up, they push each other out of the way - and this isn't competitive cycling. this is (mamil) road-rage in the daily commute.
Breathe, people. No, seriously. Breathe. There are no medals up for grabs today.
Maybe it's because bikers are seen as more intimidating and formidable with loud pipes, black leather and potentially dangerous affiliations, and cyclists are seen as somewhat more squashable, at least by anything on 4 wheels. Maybe that's why bikers tend to be more accepting of other bikers than cyclists are of other bicycles. But still - could you lot on bicycles please grow up?
Monday 3 September 2012
The Abysmal Science
If Economics is the Dismal Science, then Meteorology has got to be the Abysmal Science. The weekend was supposed to be dry in the South-East. Saturday pretty much was. Sunday morning dawned with the predicted cloud and no rain.
By the time I got to Lynn's it was grey and dry. This doesn't bother me - the UK is good at grey but dry. I can handle grey but dry, it's fine. It can even be fun because it discourages everyone else and gives me a clear road. Lynn said they'd changed their tune to "the odd shower, clearing by noon." The odd shower, I can cope with. The odd shower might be a pain when I've just had the bike cleaned, but it's no big deal.
Except that odd shower was a completely inaccurate prediction, and it poured down all the way from the M25 to Winchester. The roads were soaked, I was soaked. The bike is once again filthy.
It dried out while we had lunch and I blow-dried my jeans all the way back up the M3, but I can't help feeling that if I'd had an accurate forecast (not the spin they put on their guesswork so as not to depress people further), I'd've gone somewhere else and stayed drier...
But maybe the McDonalds ad has a point (and I can't believe I'm saying this): maybe predicting the British weather is impossible.
By the time I got to Lynn's it was grey and dry. This doesn't bother me - the UK is good at grey but dry. I can handle grey but dry, it's fine. It can even be fun because it discourages everyone else and gives me a clear road. Lynn said they'd changed their tune to "the odd shower, clearing by noon." The odd shower, I can cope with. The odd shower might be a pain when I've just had the bike cleaned, but it's no big deal.
Except that odd shower was a completely inaccurate prediction, and it poured down all the way from the M25 to Winchester. The roads were soaked, I was soaked. The bike is once again filthy.
It dried out while we had lunch and I blow-dried my jeans all the way back up the M3, but I can't help feeling that if I'd had an accurate forecast (not the spin they put on their guesswork so as not to depress people further), I'd've gone somewhere else and stayed drier...
But maybe the McDonalds ad has a point (and I can't believe I'm saying this): maybe predicting the British weather is impossible.
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