love, peace and grease.....

walking the dogs, thursday night, i'm thinking about your comment's on the blog, i have to get this sorted and sorted soon, well, now seem's like a good time, 'hello paul it's tim, whatever you are planning to do tonight cancel it, i want my bike sorting' i won't go into too much detail, i'm not proud of the fact that it came to this, but, sometimes you just have to put it straight, 2100 hrs he trap's, i'm ready for bed getting up at sparrow's fart for work but i'm determined i'm going to have a running bike tonight, 2300hrs and the shed door is open, i thumb the button and the old girl cough's into life on the third poke, the dust and shit of the past nine month's burn's off, the top end is rattling like fuck, starved of oil for the duration, as the oil starts to circulate the noise decreases and the big lump 'walk's' up the shed on the sidestand, job done, friday i'm into work, extra early to clear the deck's, 0400hrs, a cool but clear morning, by 1100 hr's i'm out of there, spend an hour checking and double checking fasteners, screw the seat back on, it's not pretty, the wiring to the switches on the bar's need's trimming back, i need to route stuff and tie-wrap it back to the frame, but, ladies and gentlemen, i'm up and running, walk the dog's, quick shower and down to roadhouse tattoo to catch ben jones, we spend an hour catching up, the shop is busy as usual but, you know, tattoo shops and bikes just seem to be so right, ben and sharon are laying down class art and the phone never stops ringing, same as the steady influx of patron's eager to book some time, quick brew and i make my way out of the city into god's county, derbyshire, the traffic is sparse, there's not a breath of wind and i'm caught out by the feeling of riding a bike, you soon forget how involving it is, the senses kicking in, my height of awareness magnified a hundred times, the farmer's cutting the grass, that heady smell of fresh cut grass, the pollen count is massive, [my eyes are watering as i type this] i can smell ladies perfume as i pass car's, i happen across an old type-two camper van on my favourite road, he's topping out at, whoa, a massive thirty five miles in the pee haytch, we pull up at traffic light's, i glimpse him in his side mirror, bloody hell, he looks like iggy pop! long, grey hair, grey vest, no tattoo's, garage bought sunglasses up high on his forehead, bob marley, surfers against sewerage and anti polltax stickers in the rear window of his van, the windows, [which i originally thought were tastefully tinted yellow but in retrospect i realise were just nicotine stained] he beckon's me forward, 'cool bike man' he's chuffing on a rather large roll-up, i'd like to asssume it was just tobacco but i know it's a massive doobie, his cheek's are hollow and drawn, frightening, i'm out here on my bike and this old tosser is toking away in broad daylight, oblivious to the consequences,  a quick blip of the go-stick and i'm away, out of harm's way, the sporty isn't happy, i've shaved down an s+s bellmouth to fit the sponge-bob-square-pant's filter and i reckon it's too short, the bike is coughing and spluttering through the carb and 'banging' on the over-run, i haven't had this problem before, an easy fix to remount the s+s bellmouth, i've spunked two tanks of fuel, i've got hay-fever, my eyes feel like someone's chucked gravel in them, my arse is sore, my fillings are dropping out and i'm smiling for the first time in month's.......