Hello and welcome to issue 11 of the langeberger, the mouthpiece of the Lodge, bringing you today some metaphysical musings on motorcycling and mechanics.
Joy and I were sitting on the front veranda yesterday afternoon, just relaxing, daily tasks finished, when my attention was captured by the passing dull thunder of motorcycle exhausts: maybe a group of friends enjoying a weekend away on their 'bikes.
Western Cape is a paradise for motorcycle touring: excellent roads, low traffic density, numerous mountain passes, great places to stay, gourmet food and wines. What more could one ask? I was reminded of an incident after my last tour through the Cape Winelands on my trusty BMW K75S (see photos).
The bike had behaved impeccably throughout the tour and I arrived home after dark. I found the right key, opened the garage door and rode the bike in. Then I remembered that the garage was alarmed, and that the alarm was, by then, in the final stages of its countdown. I heaved the bike on to its stand and ran round to open the front door, just managing to enter my code in time before all hell would have broken loose and woken all and sundry. Mayhem averted, so I thought, but in my haste I had forgotten to switch off the bike's lights, and by the following morning the battery was flat. No problem, I have a battery charger. So I removed the battery from the bike and put it on charge. But when I tried to re-connect it, massive sparks at the terminal forced me to abandon the attempt. This happened several times.
I phoned the local motorcycle repair shop several times but the owner always had an excuse for not turning out. Eventually I decided to ring an auto-electrician and found an advertisement in Yellow pages.
I rang the number and a man with a pronounced Italian accent told me he “comma take a look.” The villainous-looking desperado who arrived would not have been out of place as an extra in a Quentin Tarantino movie. He proceeded to connect the battery and... nothing happened. Nothing, no spark whatever; it was as it should be.
"The problem seems to have solved itself," I said, feeling completely stupid.
He grinned conspiratorially and said, "I don't think so. I just take one look and I think I scare it!"
I reflected on this for a moment and smiled, saying, "Yes I think you're right. I think you scared the dinges out of it!"
If you have done, thanks for staying with us and reading our ‘blog’. All too soon it’s time to say:
Adios amigos,
Chris
Joy and I were sitting on the front veranda yesterday afternoon, just relaxing, daily tasks finished, when my attention was captured by the passing dull thunder of motorcycle exhausts: maybe a group of friends enjoying a weekend away on their 'bikes.
Western Cape is a paradise for motorcycle touring: excellent roads, low traffic density, numerous mountain passes, great places to stay, gourmet food and wines. What more could one ask? I was reminded of an incident after my last tour through the Cape Winelands on my trusty BMW K75S (see photos).
The bike had behaved impeccably throughout the tour and I arrived home after dark. I found the right key, opened the garage door and rode the bike in. Then I remembered that the garage was alarmed, and that the alarm was, by then, in the final stages of its countdown. I heaved the bike on to its stand and ran round to open the front door, just managing to enter my code in time before all hell would have broken loose and woken all and sundry. Mayhem averted, so I thought, but in my haste I had forgotten to switch off the bike's lights, and by the following morning the battery was flat. No problem, I have a battery charger. So I removed the battery from the bike and put it on charge. But when I tried to re-connect it, massive sparks at the terminal forced me to abandon the attempt. This happened several times.
I phoned the local motorcycle repair shop several times but the owner always had an excuse for not turning out. Eventually I decided to ring an auto-electrician and found an advertisement in Yellow pages.
I rang the number and a man with a pronounced Italian accent told me he “comma take a look.” The villainous-looking desperado who arrived would not have been out of place as an extra in a Quentin Tarantino movie. He proceeded to connect the battery and... nothing happened. Nothing, no spark whatever; it was as it should be.
"The problem seems to have solved itself," I said, feeling completely stupid.
He grinned conspiratorially and said, "I don't think so. I just take one look and I think I scare it!"
I reflected on this for a moment and smiled, saying, "Yes I think you're right. I think you scared the dinges out of it!"
If you have done, thanks for staying with us and reading our ‘blog’. All too soon it’s time to say:
Adios amigos,
Chris
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dinges (ding-us) Afrikaans: thingummy-jig, whatsit (also means 'crap')
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