Documenting life during the first attempt at restoring a vintage motorcycle.

Similar to the zen -like feeling that is realized through surfing,
motorcycle repair can elevate the mind to a meditative state that eludes time and space...
Meaning I obsess over it, get frustrated, yell, laugh at myself and overall waste a lot of time.



The word alone conjures a collage of mental images... screeching tires spewing a cloud of rubber smoke, fly-by wheelies, grinding gears, that distinct burning smell and as my better half mentioned - even a type of woman's purse apparently.
The Clutch is nothing short of an engineering feat of mechanical genius. So complex, intricate and sensitive, any attempt to tinker with it, parallels trying your hand at brain surgery (at least for me)... Why on earth did the name of this malevolent mechanical anomaly evolve into (late 90's) slang for awesome? Or as Urban Dictionary defines it: To perform a great action while under pressure with great skill and timing. You remember what I'm talking about... A word that shares a page with such classics as rad, dope, chill, epic, money, etc... All of which are pleasantries everyone can enjoy. Maybe they were describing what it takes to actually fix a clutch? The physical clutch, namely the one on my little iron beast, does nothing but cause anxiety, frustration and mental anguish. As I'm sure it has with many of you fellow amateur mechanical brain surgeons out there... leaving the once roaring monster of a machine, a crippled pile of comatose metal. Brain dead.

So what is the point exactly? ...Well the point is... on top of your head... and if you comb it just right... maybe, no one will notice...
Seriously though. There is something wrong with the clutch on my bike. The tiniest twist of the adjustment screw makes it immobile. Like I put a pin through its spinal cord. Tighten a cable and changing gears sounds like Paul Bunyan is trying to chop his way out of the motor case... After hours of listening, studying, trying understand and regretting ever getting involved, I have learned the moodiness and sensitivity is greater than or equal to that one girl you dated back in college. You know the one... Hot, fast, unpredictable and exciting... but the littlest quip would light the fuse to an explosion of intense fighting, confusion and frustration... Yet you attempted anyway, never fully understanding what was going on. Still, you thought it would somehow work out. The crazy would sort itself out any minute now... knowing the emotional pain and suffering you endured may or may not lead to those fleeting moments of pleasure you may or may not experience, depending on her mood of course.

Anyways. It's been more than a few weeks and I think I finally reached the razor thin median of functionality... for now. It still sounds weird, but at least it works. Let's just hope I don't piss it off.

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