Roll-out

After the foray. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

On the road at last.
“Battery-charge.”
Check.
“Tire pressures.”
Check.
Start in garage.
Check.
Okay, roll-out. Into the sun on our incredibly hot driveway.
“Here we go,” I said to my wife.
“You be very careful,” she said.
Fire it up.
Don helmet and motorcycle gloves.
Off we go, out the driveway, and north onto state Route 65.
Haven’t ridden in over a year.
Seems all last summer I was mowing lawn.
Or it was raining, which increased my lawn-mowing.
I never even got the poor thing inspected.
Up the street to Cycle Enterprises II, the motorcycle-store maybe 300 yards from our house.
“What can I do for you?” asked “Lightspeed” — that’s his user-name for the Cycle Enterprises computer system.
“The little dear needs to be inspected,” I said.
He strode outside.
“Is that you?” he asked. “This yellow thing?
I sure wasn’t expecting no sport-bike.”
“Is that thing comfortable?” a friend asked a few months ago.
“Just like my 10-speed bicycle,” I answered.
“I’ve ridden that way for years,” I said. “Bolt-erect I feel like I’m gonna get blown off the seat.”
I got my motorcycle-license 32 years ago. My current motorcycle is motorbike number-six. I’ve ridden so-called “crotch-rockets” since motorbike number-two.
But I’m not much of a sport-bike rider. Never was. I just putt.
A while ago I rode number-four to southern New Jersey and northeastern Maryland. It was a return to my roots, including the Jersey seashore. (I’m from south Jersey.)
Number-five is after my stroke.
I wasn’t sure I should be buying it. I was told my motorbike days were over.
But I was able to ride number-four.
I put over 7,000 miles on number-five, including deepest darkest Manhattan, and 80+ mph bumper-to-bumper on the New Jersey Turnpike.
So now I’m on number-six, and 66 years old.
I wonder at times if I should give it up, until I ride it, and wonder what I was worried about.
Lights flash, horn beeps; passed.
Off we go on a long ride — looks like I have time to change the oil, long overdue.
All the way south to Honeoye (‘HONE-eee-oy;' rhymes with 'boy'), 20A over to state Route 64, then up 64 to 5&20.
“45 mph” the speedometer said.
“I gotta do better than that!”
50 mph, then 55, finally 60+.
My motorcycle has a gas-gauge.
It’s been a while, so I thought it was reading engine-temperature.
But the gauge kept decreasing as the temperature climbed; 170, 180, 190 degrees.
Nearly out of gas, I pulled into Toomey’s Express.
I’ve always been a little intimidated about buying gas; I have balance issues.
But the poor thing needed gas.
Back on 5&20 to West Bloomfield, but back roads to avoid Bloomfield village and its possible speed-trap.
I had to stall it at least once.
The uphill intersection of Sand Road with 5&20.
Uphill intersections are always hardest; they have to be done just so.
Thankfully, no one was behind me; no glowering intimidators to get exasperated.
Into the garage back home.
Drain oil, and set about removing half the full-fairing so I can access the oil-filter.
This is all grovel work.
And removing the fairing is always a hairball; mainly getting it back on right.
Number-five had a full fairing too, and I had a shop replace the sparkplugs.
They didn’t try very hard with that fairing — it was together WRONG.
They had given up and slapped the thing together — at least they didn’t break anything; it’s plastic.
I had to take it all back apart, and put it together RIGHT.
The entire afternoon was consumed changing the oil on number-six. And getting the fairing back together was jimmying 89 bazilyun times.
Finally it fell into place.
Screw it all back together — it’s already 5 p.m.
Into the garage about 12:30; an entire afternoon spent groveling in the filth of our garage-floor.
I had to take a shower.
But the oil is changed, and finally the oil-filter is off our dining-room table.

• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.”
• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester. We live on state Route 65. —Adjacent is the rural town of East Bloomfield, and the village of Bloomfield is within it, about four miles away.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• “5&20” is the main east-west road (a two-lane highway) through our area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road. 5&20 is just south of where we live.
• “Toomey’s Express “ is a gas-station/convenience store at the corner of state Route 64, and 5&20. The corner used to be called “Toomey’s Corners.”
• A “glowering intimidator” is a tailgater, named after Dale Earnhardt, deceased, the so-called “intimidator” of NASCAR fame, who used to tailgate race-leaders and bump them at speed until they let him pass.