Or, Did I Check That?
I don’t know about you, but before I leave on a trip I find myself taking my bike for a diagnostic ride and listening to its every murmur in an attempt to divine what may be slightly odd, wrong, or unusual. I find I can’t help it, as it becomes an innate part of my ride. The problem is that it isn’t just once, but every time I get on the bike. And while this isn’t completely unusual, because none of us want to be stranded, this state of heightened awareness increases the closer I get to leaving.
And although this is the product of being the son of a mechanic, I must admit I find it annoys even me. I should just be able to throw my leg over the bike, relax and try to hide the cheshire cat smile that runs the width of my visor, but no, I immediately fall into diagnostic mode, even though on my new bike, it’s highly unlikely to have an issue at this point.
I should explain that I don’t have OCD, except for putting on all my motorcycle gear and wearing it often in the winter, to ‘wear in the new stuff’. My other half thinks I’m a bit obsessed. I think this is just paying close attention to the condition of my gear. Fortunately she didn’t mind when I wore my new motorcycle pants around the apartment for a day to “wear in the armour pockets.” In any event, she’s now conditioned like a good pair of leather riding gloves, and twice as subtle.
I’m an apartment/condo dweller, which exacerbates my issues. I’m not allowed to actually do any servicing of any kind or else the fellow gestapo members of my enclave will report me to the condo police, whereupon I will receive a terse warning that “no servicing of vehicles, of any kind, is allowed on the property.” Needless to say, I usually drive over to a parking lot of a big box store to have a close look at my chain or any other component of my bike that requires me to get down on a knee, heaven forbid, and look.
It doesn’t make any difference whether my bike has only 12,000 kilometers on it, and I have a full five-year warranty on the motorcycle (purchased specifically so that I wouldn’t suffer the angst I’m still undergoing). I still find myself doing this routine, every time I hit the highway. I suppose it comes from my youth, when riding a sketchy motorcycle with more miles on it than a ten year old cab, was always ready to die in the middle of nowhere at the peak of a deluge, usually with an electric issue that would immediately disappear the minute you actually arrived at a dealer or began to pull the bike apart in the garage.
My new motorcycle, a Kawasaki Ninja 1000sx is a truly marvelous piece of machinery and one I’m very happy with to date. My problem is that until I have the same affinity and knowledge of every sound, vibration or squeak from this bike, that I had with my previous two BMW’s, I’m like a pilot getting into a plane where the mechanic says in passing, “Don’t worry about that little hydraulic issue, we’ll sort it out the next time it shows up.” What? No, I don’t think so.
In any event, I’m about to depart on another 9,000 kilometre adventure shortly, which I’m sure will lead me to check and recheck the bike and my gear, and my cameras, and my ipad, chargers, cables at least, who knows how many times.
But I’ll be fine. This is all normal, right?
Ciao…
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