that petrol emotion

Oh dear I feel like a terrible newb... the oldest story in the book, schoolboy error and all that. Och well.

Got the Enfield out of the shed and started her up. All good. Right go and get my lid and gloves just as the idle drops below a sustainable level and dies. No matter... a gentle manipulation of the kickstart and decompression levers and she pops back into life.

Only to drop out as I pull on the gloves.

Oh well. Never mind. I'll just do what I'm busily reflecting I should have done in the first place, pull on lid, put on gloves and then start the bike. Except it won't start now. Dammit! Ten fruitless minutes of kicking. LikeI tell everybody - if it ain't in tune you'll run yourself ragged trying to start one. Especially inside a helmet and gloves on a sunny evening. God-dam. Sweat running down my temples into my eyes. I need to be elsewhere soon. The temptation to give into a Basil Fawlty like thrashing at the kickstart is strong but I'm still in control of my faculties enough to know that sort of behaviour won't work.

Another time I'd just go and make a brew, it'd almost certainly fire up after a wee break, but I've gotta go climbing... so back into the yard, chained up and jump in the van.

Probably a fouled plug. Or I've beasted the battery. *thinks* can you do that on a bike with hardly any electrickery on it? Anyway enjoy the climbing, I'll take it for a spin when I get home. It'll start. She'll be right.





Pull the bike out of the yard...


decompression lever


kill switch




key





fuel tap














Goddam-it! The fucking fuel tap! Are you kidding me? I spent twenty minutes sweating like a rapist trying to kick-start a bike with the fuel turned off? What a twat.