PIP HIGHAM
Pip must have been on the grass this month…
Hmm, strange times. Recently I’ve been inclined, like most of you out there I’m guessing, to buy stuff on that internet.
No real bother, I’ve even sold a couple of brother Bill’s flock, sight unseen (apart from a few digital pictures of course) to nice blokes up and down the parish. In a moment of madness I even bought a 56-year-old scoot from Alan in, oh, somewhere ‘darn sarf’, I forget where. I felt like I’d missed out, because although we spoke on the phone, I didn’t get a chance to clock his tribe (tribe: collection of disparate scoots, there’s always a collection) and I miss that.
So when the restrictions started to ease a touch I was excited to scamper down the road to discuss a potential addition to my ‘flock’; my mate Col always has a few about him, I donned my Hazmat suit and immersed myself in Domestos before venturing out. Col’s got a few ‘old ’uns’ and as he opened the shed door I got my first sighting of the patient, concealed under a tarp and a few sacks, (congealed might be more appropriate for this one; Col had treated it to a good dose of gloop in anticipation of a lengthy lay-up.) As we drag the covers off and tug it out into the light of day I catch my first sight of the glinting chrome lurking under the protective coating. This is promising. I wipe over the exhaust heat shield and it’s not dented or scratched, good, and the chrome here is in fine fettle too, result!
I cast a cautious eye along the line of the wheels, which appear to be nicely in line, but the springing is definitely suspect, to be expected I suppose given the age of the poor thing, and who knows when it last saw any action. Will she run? Col’s face doesn’t flinch, there’s gas in the tank, a quick sniff at the dipstick confirms that the oil is mainly, well, oil and not rancid petrol. So, fuel on, a bit of choke, let’s crack ’im up. The motor fires first time, then splutters to a stop. I expect that the jets might be mucky but Col gives it another go and this time all is well, the motor fires up strongly and settles down to a pleasant ‘bim-bim-bim’ idle. With no signs or sounds of unpleasantness we let the motor warm up while we have a rip-stop, fire break brew in the pleasant mid-morning sunshine.
With the motor warm I run it the length of Col’s garden; it’s a good space and it’s obvious that mechanically there are no serious issues. My attention turns to the all-important tin-ware. There are no cracks, just a bit of light rust where the skinny layer of paint has rubbed through – is that what they call ‘patina’? Personally I call it penny pinching! No matter, I quite like it like that.
But now we come to the main dilemma. I’m a bit of a Suzuki guy, I’ve got history dating back around 50 years. I still love that early 1970s Suzuki period when things were simple and functional, but with enough style to avoid the ‘utilitarian’ badge. I’ve got an SDR 200 in the shed and a few Ducatis, I know, but I’m faced with a full-on defection to the dark side; after half-a-century being faithful(ish) to Hamamatsu’s finest, here I am looking at: a Honda!
Despite the potential fallout from my vacillation, temptation is dragging my emotions to a perilous place. I’m trying to temper the disparate factors preying on my mind, but when all’s said and nearly done I think I need it (do any of us actually need these artefacts? Of course we do, banish that thought right now) and now that I’ve actually managed to build a big enough shed to keep it, where’s the sense in NOT buying it?
We’ve had a bit of a yarn about the price and, as usual in these circumstances, we’ve settled around the mid-point. The condition is acceptable, starts and runs fine, generally does what it says on the tin, so is this a dilemma that should cause me grief? Well, what’s in your garage? Are you a Yammy Yogi? Or a Kawa collector or maybe you only go for Marusho Lilacs, which reminds me, I really do need a Lilac in my collection, perhaps later. Is it compulsory to stick to one make, or even one style?
I do one final check of the cables and controls, there’s a bit of work to do here, but you know what they say: ‘Money’ll put it right.’ I visualise myself at the controls: throttle wide open! Sod it, I peel off the requisite number of beer vouchers and wheel the HR194 into the van.
Never heard of an HR194? Only the best self-propelled lawn mower ever, that’s all…