www.suspectsunlimited.com
I know that I’ve been ranting about the coming of spring lately but now I have my evidence that spring really IS here, at least in NYC. My proof?
The neighborhood.
If the neighborhood thinks it’s spring, then it really is spring as far as I’m concerned.
While at work yesterday afternoon, I get a call from my my neighbor telling me that my bike and therefore the entire first floor of my building smells like gas. The only thing that it could’ve been was my leaky fuel tank that I keep on repairing.
In an effort to stop all the leaking gas, I purchased another fuel tank but I didn’t install it yet because my last repair seemed to be holding up just find up until now. Little did I know…
So I leave work early and rush home to swap tanks. If I didn’t swap tanks, then my bike would have to live outside parked out on the mean streets until I made the switch. This being NYC, the thought of leaving my bike unattended overnight IS NOT a happy thought so instead of enjoying a relaxing evening at home, I got to work.
How does the neighborhood know that it’s spring? My meager writing skills can’t begin to describe the phenomenon that takes place. It’s something to be seen and experienced rather than trying to write about it. But try I will…
You know it’s spring time in NYC when –
The sidewalks are crowded with giraffe-like model wannabees. It’s been a long winter and I guess they’re all out of practice walking around in their spiked heels. It looks like a National Geographic episode showing a heard of injured giraffes grazing out on the plain and it ain’t pretty.
Nope, there hasn’t been any huge fire sales on car stereo systems lately, it’s the change in whether. It seems like every other car rolls by blaring some type of obnoxious music (even if it’s good).
And in my neighborhood in particular? The characters have started to come out hibernation. Case in point…
Not having the luxury of an indoor workspace like those that live outside of the city, most self sufficient motorcycle owners have to work on their bikes out on the sidewalk (I mentioned as much to my friend Stacy). Not only is this a pain in the ass because you have to run back and forth for tools which end up being strewn all over the sidewalk, but you’re exposed to the weather and everyone walking by. You can’t leave to get a drink or go to the bathroom because something will surely be stolen. Such is the life of the urban motorcyclist and last night was no exception.
At this point I’m used to all the neighborhood kids coming around whenever I work on my bike. They like to hang out and watch what I’m doing, they like to handle all the shiny tools and ask all sorts of questions, but when adults start bothering me? I get annoyed pretty quick.
My first funny interaction was with a group of guys in a slammed and “pimped” Honda Accord. Me being the savvy fellow that I am, realized that they were Latin Kings (the gang, not actual royalty). You can tell they were Kings by all the yellow bandanas flying all over the place –
Latin King – “Yo Poppy, you selling that bike?”
Me – “Naa.”
Latin King – “You know where I can cop me one for mad cheap?”
Me – “Naa.”
Latin King – “For real? You don’t know? I be seeing you all the time on yo bike. All the time.”
Me – “Naa” (with a head shake this time)
Latin King – “Aaight den… peace.”
Me – “Aaight.”
My next interaction…
Nice urban fellow – “Yo, excuse me, is that you?
Me – “What?”
Nuf – “That smell, somebody be blazin mad trees.”
Me – “Naa, it’s not me.”
Nuf – “Damn, I was gonna axe you if I can buy some. Oh well, have a good night.”
Me – “You too.” (rolling my eyes)
My next interaction, just a few minutes later while out walking my dog (at this point I just finished working on my bike)…
Old drunk lady – “What kind of dog is that? I want a big ass dog. You know, a fucking big ass dog. Not no little shitzapoo or chihuahua. A big ass dog. I used to have a big ass dog but my mothers girl adopted it instead. Where’s my scratch off ticket?! I Just had it! But your dog is so nice, that’s cause he’s big. Ain’t you big boy?
Me – “…”
The old drunk lady went on and on in the same vein and kept saying “Bigass dog” for a few blocks before she wandered into the corner bodega.
My final interaction for the night? It wasn’t so much an interaction as it was an example of bad manners. But before I get to it, let me just tell you that I did manage to complete the tank swap despite all the distractions. Let me tell you, if I never have to syphon gas again, if I never have to work with bolts upside down in the dark or wrestle with hoses, it’ll be too soon.
Syphoning gas –
Things come apart –
Nothing I hate more than having to swap fuel pumps. Made worse by doing it in the dark without ruining the gasket. Hateful.
Once I had the tanks swapped, I put the bike back together. At this point it was already after midnight and I was pretty tired from the long day. I knew I couldn’t sleep unless I knew that the bike and all my work went okay, so I geared up and went for a test ride.
Tooling around wringing the bike, I found everything to be 100% okay. No leaks from the new to me tank, no fueling issues, nothing. YAY!! I gas up and head for the local Dunkin Donuts for a quick coffee before I return home and go to bed cause that’s how I roll. While in the parking lot finishing my crappy coffee and thinking about how much work this bike has forced me to do on it, a truck pulls in and and decides to park right next to me. Strange that they should want to park so close to me since the parking lot was desolate but I guess blocking me in made them feel better. It wasn’t that a big a deal since I just spun the bike on the sidestand but I found it funny that of all the trucks to block me in and show zero consideration, it was this one –
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, spring IS HERE.
