..........booked a day off work, up early, when you get up early your body-clock wakes you up at the same time anyway, walk the boy's, breakfast and in the shed, looks like a bomb's gone off, tool's everywhere, i clean up, put the allen keys back in their holder, socket set away, sweep up and get ready for a bit-of-an-epic, no sign of the postie, dangerous arrives, we are edgy, i make a brew, dangerous is milling away on rob-racing-lines-mates top-yoke, dogs start barking, sure sign of postman in 'de hairea', he looks stunned as i ask him if he has a parcel for number 42, [my ma's, can't risk the boy's chewing up my coil'], 'yes', he stammers, 'thats for me duck' i say, sign his paperwork, rip open the jiffy bag, bolt it on and.......... nothing.............................

...... so, i'm starting to lose the will to live, meter out again and discover that the earth to the head is not very good, despatch dangerous to local car spare place to get us an earth lead, mount off cylinder stud direct to head steady, that's better,i'm on the phone to diamond des for advice, poor bloke's been on night's all week, had his car nicked in york while visiting his daughter and is still up for helping us out, cheer's mate, owe you big-time, he contacts tony holmshaw, one of the top tuner's in the country and phones us back, 'phone tony boyo, he's waiting to give you some tip's', i feel awkward, we haven't had our engine off this guy but he's willing to help us out, how cool is that?..........

........and discovered the pvl ignition is actually for a two-stroke twin and has been timed up 180 degrees out, easy job to make up a puller to get the rotor off the taper, complete bastard trying to get it timed correctly, no key, just straight onto taper so lot's of trial and error, if it's timed 180 degrees out that means we are getting a spark bottom dead centre instead of top dead centre, it's never, ever going to start, quarter drive in electric drill, 12mm socket, spin the motor up and......... nothing, bastard, carb off, check carb floats, miles out, adjust to workshop manual, fuel on, spin up on drill and?.......... nothing................

..........so, there's only one option left, strip off bare 'nekkid, apply small moustache to top-lip and shout 'sieg heil' at it and guess what?, it only fucking worked!.........

wednesday night, running up and down my street trying to get it started, nothing, andy from next door is a retired 'royces engineer, he goes through all the wiring on the bike and finds the coil isn't working, i phone steve cannon and he is dropping me a coil off his spare bike in the post, should get it friday, we call it a night at 10pm, thursday night, barse is at mine for seven, he runs through all the checks that andy has done but now we are getting a spark, push, push, push up and down the street, nothing........ check my phone and e-mails, loads of tips some good, [cheers des, i owe you a couple of beers mate], to the truly brilliant, [cheers-mad-john-the-painter], 'paint a small moustache on your top lip, strip off naked and shout 'seig-heil at at it, that will fucking show it!' we try everything, stuart turns up, my ma pop's round for a beer, you can't get another person in the shed, barse is on it, 'one more try dude, one more try'....................nothing, we call it a day...........

monday night, in the shed, final preparation for starting the racer for the first time, i make up and fit the fuel line, mix up some araldite rapid to ensure the fuel tap is petrol tight, i must admit i'm worried, i know i tried the tank out to make sure that it wouldn't leak before painting but i hope it's ok, tuesday and after work i'm over to rob's at racing lines to pick up a jerry-can, measuring jug and funnel, down to the lion garage in belper to fill the can with 97 octane, carefully mix the silkolene pro2 to 5ltrs of fuel and pour 4ltrs into the fuel tank, no leaks, dangerous and stuart arrive and we lift the bike down off the workbench that has been it's home for the last 8 months, bloody hell it looks so tiny off the bench and on the floor, drop the sporty out onto the drive and back the mz out, fuel tap on and push the bike up the road, i'm wearing cammo shorts, converse a harley t shirt and my cromwell open face helmet, dangerous and stuart push me off down the hill, i'm standing on the tiny footrests, i drop the clutch and bump down onto the seat and...................................nothing, we try again, stuart falls over grazing both palms and ripping his jeans..................nothing, we try again, the back wheel skips and ................nothing.................

barse and gordy turned up at mine at 1pm, off to the strong survive custom show at south wingfield, got lost, couldn't find it up and down, no signposts, we went past wingfield manor three times, pulled up to turn round and there's some dude who looks like he's still trying to find his way home from the castlemorton rave, barefoot, [bad move, they are just in the middle of gritting all the roads in derbyshire, fucking cheapskates, re-surface them properly], wearing an afghan hat, can of carlsberg and a dog-on-a-rope, i think of asking him directions but decide against it, back into 'wingfield
and stumble on the site, greetings from one of the founder members kev and his missus ange, park up and have a look around, like the supercharged 'b'king, isr controls, extended swing-arm, wavy discs and bling wheels, reminded me of the chicano street racers you see in los angeles, lots of nice details on it, the fasteners were all machined down and polished, the ducati had a certain 'something' going on, i'm sure this is an ex-chopper club bike, the old school shovel is one of those bikes that has been around forever, original old don blocksidge engraving on the heads and the 'if you value...' sticker a throw back to an almost forgotten age of british bike building, the norton, well, the norton was cool as fuck, bumped into midnight, he was looking rough after a night's partying with kev and the crew at the le-rock rally, i felt a bit deflated again with the whole scene, lots of 'individuals', identi-kit, goatee beard, heavy facial piercing and bad attitude people, we skinned out, onto the a6, ambergate, tea at the lay-by cafe, strong, big mug, plastic spoon, sitting on a dry stone wall and taking it all in.

mz trophy, i'm working a deal with ammo for one of his, loads of work to restore one, but, really, is there a better looking motorcycle than this?, what?, what?, so, i have a few issue's, but, you want one don't you?, admit it.

kev's rally this weekend, kev runs an independent harley workshop at mansfield, no frills, no bullshit 'dealer' facilities, every year he has a weekend rally for his mates and customers, low key, turn up, pitch a tent, couple of bands in the pub, couple of port and lemons and chill out, this is the first year i haven't made a weekend of it, i phoned barse to see if i could doss in his fly sheet friday night after working on the racer, 11pm, me and dangerous have a beer in the shed, mr's b isn't talking to me and has gone to bed, i sit in the shed after dave has gone, crack open a bottle of merlot and set to lockwiring and checking fasteners replacing the 'build' nuts with nylocks, i'm not going now, bed, up at 6, glorious morning, out with the dogs, quick 5 miles thinking about all the jobs still to do for the coming weekend at mallory, breakfast, shower and drag the sporty out for the quick blast over to the rally site at matlock, i always do the 'rideout' for kev, a 50-60 mile blast around the peak district to show his customers the delights of derbyshire, straight on to the a6, wave to barse and gordy as i pass them on their way home, quick coffee on site and around 20 bikes are assembled on the pub car-park for the ride-out, i'm on my own this year, dangerous is away playing motorhomes again and barse has a wedding, there's a fair few hoggies this year and i have to temper the pace a tad, ok, it's fucking painful, i keep opening up the sporty on the bends and i have to keep slowing down to let them catch me up but, hey, it's a lovely day and i can think about jobs i still need to do on the racer, 40 miles out and one of the 'bro's' pulls along side me and let's me know they want to stop for a pint, i drop them off at the boozer half-way up the via-gellia, as the bikes pull in behind me glen pulls up on his chop, we sit on a stone wall in the carpark and talk about communism in cuba, the ford anglia door hinge that he is using for a choke knob and all points west as the 'brothers' top up their alcohol levels, fuck that, it's 1pm on a glorious summer day, i like a few shandies as much as anyone else but this is riding time, i give them directions back to the site and skin out, back to the rally site, three cups of strong coffee, chill with kev and ammo in the le-rock party tent and set off for a quick ride home.