One-hundred-eighty-seven days, thirty-four minutes, and two cigars.
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve planted my butt in the saddle of my Triumph R3 for a good long ride. I’m probably going to have to take up smoking.
Two weeks ago I stopped in at Eurosport and Tony was nice enough to pull me into the shop so I could see what was being done to my bike.
There’s a reason that surgeons don’t allow family to come in and watch when they are meddling around with the innards of a loved one on the operating table. Motorcycle mechanics should have the same basic rules.
Seeing my precious in a hundred or so pieces made me feel nauseous. I have full faith and confidence that Tony’s crew knows what they’re doing, but I’d just as soon not see behind the curtain again. The only parts I could readily recognize were the front forks and wheel propped up forlornly in the corner, and the barren frame on the lift in the middle of the shop floor.
The guys are working hard to re-assemble Moonshine after replacing a few gears and linkage parts inside the gearbox. I’ve told Tony I’m desperate to get some riding in before my back surgery in late April. After that it will be another six months of no riding.