Post 217: Winter Blues

This morning I ventured outside and for the first time in three weeks, I started the Tiger. It came to life on the first touch of the button and I’d forgotten just how satisfying the sound of the exhaust note could be. It’s been eight weeks since I’ve ridden the bike any distance. I swung my leg over the bike but sadly no joy,…. only tears. On Wednesday Dave Gurman telephoned to inform me that the new model Daytona 675 was awaiting my arrival at the Triumph factory in Hinckley. My favourite production bike, a trip to the south of France, a day of fun on the circuit at Cadwell Park,… but I can’t bloody ride. On Friday, John Newman sent me an email asking if Dave had managed to arrange a time for me to collect the Daytona, ….. and that was like rubbing salt into a very sore wound.

On Tuesday I made it to the Doctor’s and confirmed that it did actually hurt when he performed that little manoeuvre with his fingers. He announced that it looked like a hernia and I almost abandoned what remained of my will to live. He didn’t seem at all phased by the fact that I was recovering from a hernia operation, the objective of which I had assumed was to remove the problem,… or perhaps I was just expecting far too much. The result at the moment seems to be that I attend my follow-up surgical appointment in ten weeks time. If the surgeon then confirms that I do in fact still have a hernia, which given the fact that it’s twice the size that it was pre-surgery seems assured, then I’ll be added to the waiting list for further surgery. That would mean a second operation in September and no riding until October at the earliest,… deep joy.

Perhaps mistakenly, and certainly without any desire to elicit an obvious comparison between brothers, I sent pictures of my nether regions to Alan in California. Being the elder brother, he seems to have enjoyed my discomfort over the weeks and has scoffed at my protestations of pain. When I informed him that I’d actually turned black, he simply didn’t believe me. The pictures I hoped would make him understand that I wasn’t whining without reason. It worked, they actually brought him to tears, but unfortunately they were tears of laughter. So impressed was he that those pictures are now in the process of being distributed throughout the close knit community in the Anderson Valley,… I so look forward to my next visit to Boonville. On a slightly more serious note, they also reminded him that three of his lambs still needed to be castrated,…. and I apologise to each of them.

If ’Cabin Fever’ exists, then I’m definitely beginning to suffer from it. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being lazy, I just don’t react well to being stationary. The walls of my room are getting smaller every day and since discovering the lost art of walking on Wednesday, I’ve taken to writing in a small and ramshackle greenhouse at the foot of the garden. I can’t stand up for any length of time because of gravity, and I can’t sit for any length of time because of swelling, so I recline on an old broken sun lounger and knock out reams of crap on my laptop. The neighbours probably think that I’m barking, and it’s actually quite difficult to disagree with them. I’ve been promised a travel voucher following my long and eventful journey to Thailand last November, but I’ve now been waiting almost four weeks for it’s arrival. When it arrives, assuming that I can walk and tow a suitcase on wheels, then I’ll be off. If I’m going to be restricted to a sun lounger, then a sun lounger under the sun and an endless supply of cheap food and Mekong whiskey will be infinitely preferable to a Braintree greenhouse in Winter.

HM Revenue & Customs have kept their word and sent out my third ‘Activation Code’, the necessary password that they insist on sending out by Royal Mail in order to complete your tax return on-line. For obscure reasons of security, they can’t simply email it to me. Perhaps they feel that the internet is not yet secure enough for the delivery of my password,… yet they deem it secure enough to accept the finer details of my bank accounts and finances. Anyway, true to form the Inland Revenue have sent the Activation Code to my old address,… yes the apartment that burned down, … yes for the third time. I’m not sure how much clearer I can make it for them, the letters that I receive from them arrive at my new home without problem, their systems apparently only hold my new address, … I give up.

While I’ve been writing this, there are two guys riding up and down the street on a KTM Super Duke and a Triumph Street Triple. The bikes sound gorgeous, the burble of the exhaust notes make my hairs stand on end as they drop down the gears into the roundabout before accelerating back up the hill. I haven’t seen them around here before but they’ve been up and down at least ten times in the last hour. Perhaps they’ve been sent here to tease me, …….it’s working, … I wish they’d bugger off somewhere else.

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