The
Rat is dead ...
or
(Look Dad, is this what you meant by machine sympathy?)
Well, I suppose it had to happen one day! After many years of (relatively) trouble free motorcycling it came to pass that I finally broke down in spectacular style; amusing for those I had just overtaken no doubt!
The exhaust had been blowing on the Rat for a while, steadily worsening but tolerable. Leaving college on Thursday afternoon after a particularly uplifting tutorial, I noted that it sounded a little more rorty than usual. Throwing caution to the wind as one is wont to do on occasions, I set off on the 12 mile journey home. After about 6 miles the exhaust note (or so I thought) changed somewhat, becoming increasingly loud and accompanied by a loss in power. 'Hmmmmm,' thought I, 'perhaps I shall take it steady, nurse it home.' Little did I know that at that moment, my fate was sealed ...
Approaching Wilstead Hill, one of the few inclines in Bedfordshire's leafy, landfill ridden landscape, the power seemed to drop off even more to the extent that the articulated truck in front of me made it's getaway up the hill! Praying to whichever omnipotent being was currently in residence, I coaxed the ailing Rat onwards and upwards. I was beginning to have my suspicions at this point that all may not be well, what with power (what little it had anyway) fading fast and the exhaust note akin to something like a tractor. Willing the Rat on, the brow of the hill hove into sight; by this time I was down to about 30mph, left-hand indicator on and placed well into the side of the road intending to pull in at the lay-by over the brow.
Alas and alack, it was not to be. The multitude of vibrations that is the Rat 'riding experience' suddenly changed in pitch and frequency to something altogether seismic ... 'This isn't good' I swiftly surmised and, hand ready over the clutch (thanks Loz) I quickly assessed my options. The Rat however, had different ideas and with a sudden BANG, a large lump of something black flew past my left knee followed by a large cloud of smoke. I swiftly pulled in the clutch and rolled to a stop thinking 'oh deary me, what can have happened?' Dismounting from my troubled steed, I cast my eye over it weeping what was left of its life blood onto the tarmac and, coming to the conclusion that this was, indeed, terminal ... rang Pip. Help on the way, I pushed the Rat to a safer spot (the lay-by) and inspected the damage ...
So there you have it, the Rat is dead ...
The story won't end there however; the little black beastie shall live again to terrify and disgust the decent gentlefolk of Bedfordshire ...
Bwwaaaahahhahhahahhhhhaaaaaaaaa ...
Time for a lie down and a cup of camomile tea I think.
Last updated 11 July 2006
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Team Garage Pixie
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