The Perfect Ride

There are situations, points in time, lyrical moments that cry out for whiskey.  Some incidents and accidents insist on massive, almost intravenous infusions of good Kentucky or Tennessee sour mash.  Other circumstances, temporary moments of altered states lean to maybe sipping lightly from a recently  filled stainless steel flask pulled out new from the Quality box full of bike parts early in the day when Life was hectic and I needed something special to look forward to in order to keep me on an even keel as the world in my immediate vicinity threatened to spin out of control.

Smiling my way through the rest of my day's labor, I  eagerly anticipated this moment when I could enjoy my first sip from that brand new Stanley commemorative 8 ounce flask and consider a job I hope is well done.  Finally finished and more importantly, hoping what I have constructed will bring a smile to the man who will soon throw a leg over this "perfect ride".

I sit here wondering how to impart the pleasure of constructing something that was once but a concept of many parts coming together, coalescing in my mind so many weeks ago.  I pondered as I hung, draped, and installed the many and various parts, my feeling of ownership or maybe responsibility for this pinnacle of civilized machinery as it slowly evolved with each gee whiz part I screwed on and adjusted.  This bike was a thoroughbred, a A flirtatious filly that would need the right jockey to push her to her limits.  And this jockey would only be able to push her limits if I had done my job.

Building such a fine machine caused delays as I anguished every little thing.  From making sure the saddle was level to creating the best chain line possible.  I used emery cloth.  I used almost every tool I own.  I wished for tools not in existence. I sweated details like I almost never do.  And I cussed like I always do.  I refused to let it go until the clock had literally run out.  I have to hook up with the infamous John Fox on the Turnpike tomorrow to pass my handiwork off as he heads south of the Mason-Dixon line to deliver this 18.6 pound beauty into the eagerly awaiting hands of it's new owner, Dave the Punk.  And while all our backs are turned, Bike Shop Jim finds that first limit in the parking lot out back.

Suddenly the Presidents of the United States swing into gear and with the knob turned up to wow, rock hard with "Mach 5" ......Drive with the top down.  Or tip back, sit back,  throw back some fine spirits and ...................................Grin.