Page 38 of The Side Road
‘It’s on the other side,’ he added, trying to be helpful.
‘I can manage.’
She wasn’t managing. The temptation to help her was overwhelming. ‘Do you want me to…’
‘No. I’ll fix it later.’
Abandoning the clip, she straddled the bike and started the engine. They took off and glided down the street, her helmet straps dangling behind her. He watched until she turned the corner.
Her gear changes made him flinch. Second to third was no better. She wasn’t a competent rider. To gain more speed and balance, she needed to commit to the take-off and sitfurther back. Her helmet was too big and not properly fastened. Unsafe, it had to go. He would see to that, because it didn’t look like anyone else was going to. But he admired her sense of adventure, her willingness to learn. Everyone started at the beginning.
PART II
PREPARATION & DISASSEMBLY
What does your motorbike restoration journey look like?
Your desire to restore your dream machine to its former glory is understandable, but before you even begin, it’s important to choose a bike with an engine that hasn’t seized. This is fundamental. If you want to stay sane and not drain your bank balance, then don’t tackle a bike with a seized engine! And for god’s sake, don’t choose a pre-Hinkley British bike. These bikes are full of quirks and idiosyncrasies that demand patience, deep pockets, and experience. The irregular and often baffling array of bolts and thread sizes are enough to cripple even a seasoned mechanic – you’ll also need a lot more than a basic toolbox.
A garage with a heater for the winter months is a must.
12
A GOOD MECHANIC
Fadedblack and white photos from the 1960s and pale-coloured prints from the 1980s and 90s were spread across the kitchen table. Tash examined the pictures as Oliver unpacked the dishwasher.
‘Nan was old when she had Mum, wasn’t she?’ Tash, leaning forward, squinted at the photo she was holding.
‘Forty-four. They didn’t think they could have kids. Lizzy was a miracle baby.’
‘She was a gift from God.’
‘Or maybe they weren’t having enough sex.’
‘Oliver.’ Tash giggled. She lowered her eyes.
‘You should take photos of these pictures,’ he suggested. ‘The hard copies fade.’
‘Good idea. There are no pictures of your mum here,’ Tash said.
‘No, only the ones we have. There was an album, but Gramps lost it. Over the years, he got rid of her stuff. I should have said something, but my headspace wasn’t right.’
She stared at her father. They didn’t need words.
Eventually, she held up a photo of a baby. ‘Why am I wearing this? I look like a bowl of spaghetti.’
Oliver glanced at the picture and smiled. ‘You chose that outfit yourself.’
‘I’m a baby. I can’t even walk.’ She held up another photo. An image of a couple dancing together. ‘Who do you think this is?’
Oliver studied the photo. ‘That is a picture of old people dancing.’
A knock on the screen door. Leo bounced into the room. ‘I tried the front, but no one heard me.’
Tash showed him the photo. ‘Leo, do you know who this is?’
‘Check on the back. Sometimes they have the names and dates.’
