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 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 herd 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 weather. 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 of 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 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.
This post is out-fuckin-standing.
I’m going to have to remember that default “Naa” response for when I’m in the big city. Between that and a non-committal grunt I should have the safe responses covered.
Been there, done that. Amazingly enough being in a garage in the suburbs hasn’t cut down on it.
Lazy eyed fellow: Yo, you a bike mechanic?
Me: Nope
LEF: Oh, cuz I see you workin’ on yo bike all the time.
ME: Just cleaning the chain.
LEF: Is that a thousand?
ME: Nope
LEF: Oh, my cousin got a thousand.
On a side note I once gave the same guy a wire hanger when he locked his keys in the car. I’m not sure if I actually aided and abetted a crime.
Stacy – That sounds like a perfect plan. If you were to ever find yourself here in NYC working on your bike on the sidewalk and you were to utter “Naa” followed by a non-committal grunt, the person trying to speak to you would automatically assume that you don’t speak english. LOL.
Uni – I think that there’s a difference being in the suburbs. For one, you can simply close the the garage if the person really starts to annoy you, also allowing you to get a drink, then go to the bathroom or get something to eat without packing up the whole shebang and getting everything back inside.
I’d also think that the sheer amount of comments and passersby would be a lot less out there than it is here. I wouldn’t be able to quote all the comments and interactions that I get. The three last night were the cream of the crop though. I’m still laughing about it.
This is a great post. I always wonder where these people are during the winter months. Don’t put it passed the burbs though, we’ve got our share of tards too. It’s a different breed though. For me they usually come in the form of Guido (wish I could link an urban dic hyperlink to that, howyododat?) or even worse wannabe Guido or guidette in a white benzo. Maybe because it’s a ducati the italian routes somehow? Maybe because I have to block a parking spot which are oh so precious come the summer months and get yelled at when they start to pull in to see me when they thought they had a spot after driving around for 20 mins? I don’t know. But that grunt your talking about is surely in my vocab.
Arc – I used to think it was a Ducati thing what with working on my Ducs out on the sidewalk… the most common phrase uttered was “Oh a Ducati. Dat’s one of dem Italian bikes. I heard they’re crazy expensive.” To which I replied – “Y’up.” Then they’d inevitably say – “It was me, I’d get me a gixxer, those are the fastest.” To which I’d look them in the eye and give a big shrug.
People always think my bike is like 40k. To which reply, “GRRRRAAAAAAARRRRRR” then wrap tackle them and scream in their face “I’M NOT CRAZY I’M NOT CRAZY!”. Sometimes I spit when I yell to.
>>Me – “…”
Don’t you wish that stunned blinking made an actual noise like it does in the cartoons?
We don’t have too much of the loud radio stuff here in my area. Out here in suburbia, we’ve begun the running of the pirates though. They’ve woken up from hibernation. It’s fringe and chaps-a-plenty now that the weather is starting to warm up a little. There is also a lot of revving. Looooots of revving going on.
Fuzz – And speaking of jackasses blipping their throttle… there’s a guy around the corner from me that just bought one of those Spyder 3 wheelers… I think he decided on 3 wheels so that he doesn’t have to think about balancing or putting a foot down while an at intersection, he can just twist the shit out of his throttle cause it seems to make him so happy. Jackass.
And pirates?! How’s it possible for 5 riders to ride in formation when all they do is laps around the block? Jackasses.
On a more positive note, I really AM happy spring’s here!
Great post, i don’t get any runins like that in my area ever….
I agree with fuzz though the pirates are out and let us not forget the local 711 crews are “chillen hard”
Great dialog!
I forgot what a huge hassle it was to work on the bike on the urban sidewalk. Well done.
Christina – THANKS!
[...] essential, some not so, I’ve finally got it back to where I’m happy with it. The new fuel tank that doesn’t leak is a huge relief. All in all, I’ve spent a lot time working on the [...]