Charge?

I really need to get that new battery.

We've been soaked with rain this spring (one of the many reasons for me not being on the road), and my friend Todd asked me to check in on the family cabin at Pine Creek. He lives in Florida. I live an hour and a half from from the cabin. Scouting report? No problem. I love it when a reason to ride falls into your lap.

I rolled the bike out of the garage. It started on the first try. Things were looking good. I stopped at Graham's Exxon to check tire pressure and tank up. It's an old school service stations with three bays, a small office, and full service.

I switched on the bike—no go. The battery only had enough juice for one start.

We tried to jump it, but bike batteries being what they are, the terminals were too difficult to reach for the standard cable clips. I'll log this as a four block ride and try again in the morning after the battery has had a chance to charge.

Sorry Todd, you'll have to wait until tomorrow for that scouting report.

Hands-on

I had forgotten how much fun you can have with a wrench.

My father is a practical gift giver. As a kid I had received countless pocketknives for Christmases and birthdays. Fishing rods, sleeping bags, and all things outdoors would appear wrapped in the Sunday comics. At 13 I became the proud owner of a Ruger 10/22, skipping the BB gun and proceeding directly to rapid-fire plinking.

But the best present, the one that has traveled with me to every dorm room, attic apartment, and summer rental, was the Craftsman 250 piece mechanics tool set dad gave to me for my high school graduation.

As a kid, the mysteries of the internal combustion engine escaped me—as did my father's sense of irony.

During the years of working for my dad’s tree service, I had managed to avoid the wrench. When pressed I could change the plugs and distributor cap in the old Ford, or swap out a starter or the occasional water pump. On rainy days I learned how to tune chain saws and change the blades on the M&M. But generally, I avoided vehicle maintenance—too many parts, not enough patience. For most of their life, the tools had gotten away with the assembling of flat-pack furniture and light bicycle maintenance.

But people change. Our lives get busier, and we look for things that force us to slow down.

I bought an old bike because I wanted to do my own maintenance—to get dirty, to tinker. The airhead, with its heads and carburetors exposed, seems to be the perfect match.

Spring Keeps Its Own Schedule.

We had a snow squall yesterday. Forty degrees and relentless wind.

I put the bike on the charger over the weekend. It started on the first try. A little backfire. Some white smoke. Then the familiar click that reminds me that I am an airhead.

There are things that need to be done. Oil change. Clutch cable. Break adjustment. Lube the spline.

I love my bike. I miss the road.