motorcyclemeditation.com

For today’s scheduled excitement, an afternoon ride to Norwich. Taking a moment at lunchtime to check over the motorcycle, a slight slithering of the back tyre last night, might be a tyre problem. Ah yes, there it is, a screw, the x on its head sitting flush with the rubber. Darn. Still, at least it’s working hours, better now than at night or on a Sunday.

The internet revealing a new tyre shop five miles up the road. The receptionist on the telephone adamant, be here two thirty, it’s the only time we can fit you in. Duly arriving at two twenty nine, ready with acerbic comments, I’m on time why aren’t you. This clever intent stopped in its tracks by the pretty receptionist with the polite smile, one minute later a mechanic in clean overalls wheeling the motorcycle into the workshop.

A little switch clicking in my mind, registering, this is a master at work, shut up and watch. Even in the wheeling away, a sense of balance, man communing with machine. Checking the feel of the brake levers, gently pulling at cables, looking at the forks, shifting his head for another angle, testing the tautness of the chain. Chatting affably, but with prime attention on the motorcycle.

Marking the puncture spot with a chalked circle. Reaching for spanners and screwdrivers and such, tapping, turning, twisting. The pneumatic wrench chattering, echoing in the workshop. The wheel eased off its spindle, wish all motorcycles were like this mate, get it off from one side. The wheel carried to a weird machine, levers pulled, the tyre expelling its air in a swoosh, dying. The slack rubber carried away, the metal of the wheel left to soak in a bath of soapy water.

Throughout, briskness combined with softness, hallmark of a true professional, seldom actually seen. Where seen, in a chef or dentist or mechanic or anywhere, instantly recognizable. The briskness born of expertise. The softness born of humility, recognition of, I’m not necessarily right here, better not force things, better stay open to new possibilities, stay receptive.

The pieces reassembled and adjusted, the motorcycle brought back to ground. The bill, twenty five bucks, wow, for all that. Well, thanks pal. Don’t mention it. On the journey, glowing from the recollection. A privilege just to have been allowed to watch.