I have little or no practical ability and the creativity of my hands is severely lacking. As a man this can be seen as a real weakness , an embarrassment even, but it is something I have learnt to live with. Not for me are the basic mechanical and engineering tasks that are required to keep the bonnie on the road. Instead I used to sheepishly take her down to the Triumph dealer for all manner of small tasks that even those with a little more mechanical aplomb could easily undertake. I say “used to” because things have changed in the last 12 months. Not that I have changed, it’s too late for me, but I have found that there is another way. Don’t get me wrong, the dealership was always welcoming and met my requests without incredulity or surprise, but there was always something lacking and now that I’ve found it I’ll endeavour to keep it.
The relationship of being his customer has been growing steadily. My wife found him first, a faulty battery on the Honda and a need for a new clutch lever. Yellow pages, a simple one line and telephone number, no fancy advert to draw your attention, just the fact that he was a motorbike mechanic located a couple of miles from where we live. He wasn’t dismissive of a novice ladybiker but showed her the kind of respect and calmness that is rooted in a love of what he does. It’s not about the money for him, yes it’s a business, a means to earn a living but it was difficult to get him to take any money from her for anything other than the fitted parts. He simply wanted to help us get the bike running reliably again – his interest was in us and the bike. It was both refreshing and touching.
Last week I took the bonnie to him for a front tire change. I was late, an hour late but he greeted me enthusiastically, told me my timing was great and that it had given him a little more time to mess around with some of his other “customer” bikes. It was his way of putting me at ease, telling me not to worry. We rolled the bonnie down the side of his house into his lock up, careful not to catch his BSA and other assorted bike debris that lay around his driveway.
Once inside the lock up, there at eye level, on a raised workbench, stood a piece of mechanical art. Brooding, black, shimmering – graceful lines of a bygone era - beautiful. “Is that a....?” I asked, “Yep, a Vincent Black Shadow, customer bike and worth a bob or two” he replied. But his mind was not on the Vincent but a bonnie that needed a new tire, he started to work. I stood in his workspace and drew in the sights of his lock up, as beautiful as the Vincent was there was far more to look at and breathe in. Cluttered is an unkind word, it suggests untidy and unkempt, but this was cluttered in a way that each implement, package or tool had its place – it was more busy than untidy. Another “customer bike”, a 1970’s bonnie sat on a second raised workbench. On the walls were shelves stuffed with oil cans, sprocket sets, drill bits, spanners and spay canisters. The sides of the floors seemed to sink under large toolboxes, compressors, old bike frames and spare dented exhausts.
I turned to watch him work and studied him intimately. The long dark ‘biker’ hair, greying as it fell about his face, oily short fingers picking up tire irons and the obligatory greasy overalls and boots. Certainly old style, in tune with his “customer bikes”, he matched his lock up perfectly. There was no modern machinery to help ease the task, it was all undertaken on a wheel jig using his experience to make the task easy, taking an inordinate amount of care as he removed the tyre and cleaned up the wheel rim.
We chatted gently over the next hour as he working diligently through the task at hand. The subjects were harmless – real ale, “customers” and even the scooter generation. Nothing controversial that might hold views against which we might rile each other, finding common ground in a world where we were clearly different in lifestyle and skills. Accentuating our similarities and pushing our differences to one side.
The balancing of the wheel showed me the most though, just a simple piece of string and a spindle. Spinning the wheel, adjusting the weight and moving the string around the rim until it was perfectly balanced. I could do nothing but stare, transfixed on the skill of a simple process administered beautifully. The care, the attention to detail and grinning smile as the task was accomplished.
As he replaced the wheel into the forks I took out my wallet to pay him. It’s always cash, no credit or debit cards – such electronic technology would be at odds with the surroundings. I was embarrassed. I was short by £30. My own fault, in my lateness I had rushed to get there and forgotten to visit the cash machine. “No worries” he said, “just drop it by tomorrow”. My embarrassment put at ease, we rolled the bonnie out of the lock up back to the road. I thanked him and set for home.
The next day I returned. He came out to greet me, same greasy overalls, bedraggled hair and oily fingers. I gave him the balance. He didn’t check it, no need to, he trusted me, bikes being our common ground. It went straight into his overall breast pocket, with a joke that he could now afford a few pints of ale down the pub that evening. I left him again with words of gratitude and assurances that I would be returning for his services again when needed.
I have been fortunate enough to take a profession that has furnished me with a more than a comfortable lifestyle, the usual trappings as I head towards middle age, nice cars, motorbikes, good holidays and more. I don’t think the comforts of a middle aged professional mean anything to him though. It’s the love of bikes, helping his “customers” and the chance to sink a couple of pints now and then that make his world turn. It’s a simpler way of life and one that part of me wishes I could take, although I know it is just a remote thought - wishful thinking even. In many ways we are so very different but I’m glad that we have that one link that means our paths in the world have crossed and will continue to do so. I will be remaining one of his “customers” of that there is no doubt. Different lives but kindred spirits.
Anticipation is everywhere. Excitement even. Nervous energy abounds. The planning has been rambling for weeks, perhaps even months, scouring the internet for hotels, routes and points of interest along the way. The list of essentials is all but ticked off, nothing has been left to chance. The bikes have been prepped and the luggage filled with neither a nook or cranny left to cram. Just one more check in the morning and we’ll be on our way. Two bikes, two riders and the essentials to get us through the next 10 days. The French Alps beckon.
