Be warned, it's a bit of a long one [smiley=happy.gif]
This follows closely on from Tip No. 1 “DO NOT polish your motorcycle seat with polish” !
Now if I’d thought it through, I could have worked out what would happen if I had bothered to listen to my own Tip No 1.
But - last weekend my leathers got really soaked, so I did the usual thing of leaving them near a radiator in the spare bedroom to dry. The following day I became aware of a peculiar odour coming from upstairs and went to investigate, half expecting to find an escaped skunk or something that had died a long time ago under the floorboards (I always had a bit of an imagination)
As you have guessed (don’t know why I didn’t) it was my nicely slow-cooking leathers !
I’m sure my local dry cleaners would have been able to clean and de-smellify them, but being a tight Yorkshireman, I decided that all they needed was a good hot bath with lots of washing powder and bubbles.
After half an hour of them wallowing in what very soon looked like Guinness (yuk) and about a dozen rinses they looked really clean and smelt of Mountain Dew and Eucalyptus, so I left them to dry overnight before putting them in the airing cupboard for a few days.
I took them out on Saturday and they were dry and clean (result) but a bit stiff and pale coloured, so after searching through the shoe cleaning bag I found some old leather polish and started work. They came up nice and soft & shiny and the black was back to black !
Ride-out Sunday morning came and I get the bike ready, ticking over outside work (to the envious glances of the car wash lads opposite) and got my kit on.
10.50am came and I jumped on, did a quick lifesaver, and shot off down the road feeling great (and knowing that the six lads opposite would spend their day cleaning cars and I was having fun on my mean machine) - I should have remembered what comes directly before a fall (ie pride) :-/
1.5 seconds later as the back tyre gripped into the tarmac something not nice happened. I slid backwards on my seat with almost enough force to push my bum over the pillion seat cowl (and with my bum, that‘s a lot) this explosive rearguard action pulled my body flat onto the tank and stretched my arms out causing even more acceleration as I hurtled towards the roundabout looking (to the bemused car cleaners I’m sure) like some sort of maniac wannabe bike dragster at Santa Pod.
I hutched myself forward and braked enough to go round (rather than across) the roundabout although I’m sure Mark Able would have frowned at my unusual “line”
And rather than go right round the roundabout like I would normally do (and back past the by now laughing car cleaners) I headed off to Warminster up the Bratton road with what I had left of my dignity (thinking about it - none) :-[
At Warminster Services I decided that what I needed was something sticky between me and the seat and knowing what Red Bull feels like on your fingers decided that this would be the improvised tool of choice, although I’m still not sure what Colin thought when he saw me rubbing it into my seat and leather clad bum .
The rest of the day was spent trying to cling on with my knees and butt cheeks round every corner and trying to stop me crushing the items that should never be crushed on the tank every time I braked.
I’m not sure what to do next, the Red Bull didn’t work and it’s just as slippy as ever,
I’m sure I’ve seen Basher with a big sander in the workshop, I may have to take that to my Dainese’s
Usually I like to end with an optimistic note, but on this occasion there isn’t any, my leathers don’t smell of dead things anymore but my whole house stinks of the overpoweringly sweet, sickly smell of Red Bull - Yuk
Be warned…..
