I got some time out this weekend - I'm on holiday this week, and painting the Railway Carriage which serves as my office, and re-finishing the wood on the conservatory, and finishing the pointing on the patio, and, oh, a hundred other things. With that workload I thought I deserved some "me" time before commencing.
And a happy couple of hours it was too. For that was all I managed before the lawnmower beckoned, but it was happy. I rediscovered the state I left my Banty in at the end of last winter. I re-found the headlamp rim which didn't fit, it still doesn't. I re-discovered the side panel screws which were too short, they hadn't grown either. I found all the things I meant to do but hadn't gotten around to. So I screwed my new blackboard-key-holder-shelf-thing to the garage door, and listed all of my outstanding jobs. I did all of this listening to a variety of tunage, courtesy of iTunes and a youth spent mis-collecting a variety of musical styles.
I was mildly musical as a youth, I played drums, and I played bass, just not at the same time. I am now learning to play rhythm guitar, at which I hope to achieve the same level of mediocrity which was the hallmark of my musical youth. I played in New Wave bands, I played in electro-synth bands, and I also played punk, indie and plain old rock. Just not all at the same time.
All of these styles are represented in my garage by, as I've mentioned before, the wonders of iTunes. I have an old PC in the garage, officially it's there for storing all of those digital photo's I need to remind me how to re-lace a wheel, or in which order the bolts are installed on the front mudguard. I've got it connected to the internet and can use it as research, to find Bantam bits, trawl eBay, send email or just plain old listen to music.
All in all, I reckon it's one of the most useful tools in the garage, all of the others are single-purpose, OK, I know a screwdriver is really a lever, and a big adjustable spanner doubles as a hammer, but none of those uses are really asking the tool to give it's best. The PC just sits there, doles out wisdom, aids my memory and also soothes my brow when things aren't going right. What other tool can claim all that?
I may start a thread about this on the forum - what's your favourite tool?
Monday, 13 July 2009
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
The meaning of travel.
I’m writing this entry from the departures lounge of an airport. It’s “one of those weeks” again. One of those weeks when have to take time out of my busy schedule to indulge in something called “work”. They call it work, anyway, I call it bad planning. This particular piece of bad planning will see me starting off in Luton this morning, and flying to Paris. I should have been meeting with my boss in Paris, and taking some time to discuss, amongst other things, what we are doing for the rest of the week. You may think that it’s bad planning, going to Paris to discover what I’m supposed to be doing for the rest of the week, and you’d be right, but that’s what happens when you allow salespeople to run even the smallest part of your life. I’m lucky, I drove 30 miles and have an hour flight. My boss lives just outside of San Francisco and has little more idea than me what he’s doing in Europe. Just when you think it couldn’t get worse, it does. The salesperson has commandeered our planning time for a meeting with Apple in Paris. Bye-bye any resemblance of order in the week, methinks
It was a busy weekend, in the lead-up to this, the most anticipated week in recent times. Karen was busy doing her thing, Moo, the rampant 9 year old had stuff to do, the chickens, rabbits, hamsters and canaries all needed cleaning, the dog had to be walked, and we couldn’t forget the cat, could we? Oh, and it was our wedding anniversary also.
Not much time for Bantam-fettling, you may think. And you’d be right. The Little Chicken has sat on the workbench, under it’s dustcover patiently waiting the attention it needs.
It wasn’t a complete loss on the bike front, however. I built the mountain bike frame I had stripped and sprayed last weekend into a decent bike. Then retrieved some different forks from the deepest recesses of the garage and re-considered the shape of the bike. True to form I had built the bike as a lightweight racer, the forks installed were carbon-fibre and titanium affairs, which were more expensive than most bikes. What I had originally planned was a decent sturdy tourer, with mudguards and a rack and everything, a bike that I could ride with the family on cycle-paths and next to canals, that sort of thing. So, I stripped it down again, refitted the (luckily classic) forks I had found lurking, and considered for a while the best way to get a mudguard to attach to forks without mounting eyes… In my stash of spares there is a number of bodged, butchered and broken bits, which I should have disposed of some time ago, but didn’t. Within the collection I found an old 1” quill stem which, with the gentle application of a hacksaw and a tap-and-die set, became the perfect wedge for pushing into the bottom of the sheerer tune of the forks, wedging in with a sufficiently long bolt, and attaching a mudguard to. Perfect.
Then I fitted Satnav to the BMW. Somehow, bodging a mount together, and sorting a power supply, even after the first aborted attempt at fitting the power socket, when I discovered my dad still had my hole saws, was much simpler, logical and straightforward than that Japanese-framed/English fork exercise on the bicycle. Thank goodness the Germans did the initial design on the Bantam, and not the Japanese, it all makes so much sense now.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
It's madness, I tell you!
I really do think that some people are touched by madness.
This is going to be a very short post (stop cheering at the back), and it's just to celebrate the madness inherent in the English psyche, and the things it makes us do.
I was at work the other day, about a week ago I think. Nothing unusual in that, I do work occasionally. Just as little as possible, and taking the easy route whenever I can (well, I am getting on a bit, and there's no need to make things any more difficult than they have to be, I always think). It was a lovely day. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. The chickens crowed a friendly hello as I wandered out to feed them. Lambs were in the field (not the one behind my house, that's full of cows making cow noises and cow smells). Spike the Jack-Russell was coughing his way through his first hay-fever of the year. Everything was, in short, Summery.
So, I decided to ride the BMW to London to work, not take the train.
I know what you're thinking "Ah, another one of those It Started So Well, Then It Rained stories". Well, you're wrong. I rode to London in the sun, worked, got my work done, everybody was happy, a sales-person bought lunch, I looked into some watch shops in Clerkenwell and bought new watch-fixing supplies, then rode home in the sun. Nothing difficult about any of that, really.
Just around the corner from my house, literally, is a fire station, as I rode past, I noticed a familiar outline. It was a Bantam, a D14, no less, parked on the side of the road, rider in traditional pose, spanner in hand. So, I did the old-fashioned bike thing, I stopped to see if I could help. Why does nobody do that these days? I've lost count of the number of times I've sat on the side of the road, next to one of my two "reliable" Honda's, spanner in hand, watching other bikers whizz past on their race-reps, matching helmets and leathers, studiously ignoring me and my plight. Maybe stopping to help will affect lap times. I'm not like that, though, or at least I don't think I am. I'll always stop to see if everything is OK, and as this was a Banty, I was doubly determined to help.
It turns out that the rider had just finished rebuilding his bike, and was just off to see my local supplier of Bantam parts for some mudguard nuts and bolts, if memory serves, which it does with less reliability these days.
I live in Newport Pagnell, which is respectably distant from Milton Keynes, but close enough to make the facilities accessible if needed. The Bantam Rider was from Northampton, not a million miles away, in fact, about fifteen miles away. Riding these fifteen miles, OK, let's be generous and call it twenty by the time he arrived at his destination, and another twenty back again, was his shakedown run before setting off to ride to France(!). He'd managed 15 miles before having to tighten up various bits of bodywork to stop them falling off, which is why he had a spanner in his hand.
So, unknown bike, all been in pieces, every chance that something, possibly more than one something, may detach, explode or simply stop at any time and he's off to ride across the continent. That's how this country achieved greatness. Not by looking into the consequences of our actions, and listening to the Health and Safety brigade, but by seeing a challenge and grabbing it by the scruff of the neck until we met victory. Or wished we hadn't started the whole foolish escapade. Either really.
I never did get his name, and know nothing about him other than he was obviously a little touched by the hand of lunacy, and punctual - we didn't chat because he had to get to the parts supplier before he closed. But I wished him luck and a small part of me wished I was going with him. I say small part because it was my brain, and some have commented that, indeed, this is the smallest.
So, did he make it? If you know of the Mystery Man, please let me know. I am worried about him, in more ways than one.
This is going to be a very short post (stop cheering at the back), and it's just to celebrate the madness inherent in the English psyche, and the things it makes us do.
I was at work the other day, about a week ago I think. Nothing unusual in that, I do work occasionally. Just as little as possible, and taking the easy route whenever I can (well, I am getting on a bit, and there's no need to make things any more difficult than they have to be, I always think). It was a lovely day. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. The chickens crowed a friendly hello as I wandered out to feed them. Lambs were in the field (not the one behind my house, that's full of cows making cow noises and cow smells). Spike the Jack-Russell was coughing his way through his first hay-fever of the year. Everything was, in short, Summery.
So, I decided to ride the BMW to London to work, not take the train.
I know what you're thinking "Ah, another one of those It Started So Well, Then It Rained stories". Well, you're wrong. I rode to London in the sun, worked, got my work done, everybody was happy, a sales-person bought lunch, I looked into some watch shops in Clerkenwell and bought new watch-fixing supplies, then rode home in the sun. Nothing difficult about any of that, really.
Just around the corner from my house, literally, is a fire station, as I rode past, I noticed a familiar outline. It was a Bantam, a D14, no less, parked on the side of the road, rider in traditional pose, spanner in hand. So, I did the old-fashioned bike thing, I stopped to see if I could help. Why does nobody do that these days? I've lost count of the number of times I've sat on the side of the road, next to one of my two "reliable" Honda's, spanner in hand, watching other bikers whizz past on their race-reps, matching helmets and leathers, studiously ignoring me and my plight. Maybe stopping to help will affect lap times. I'm not like that, though, or at least I don't think I am. I'll always stop to see if everything is OK, and as this was a Banty, I was doubly determined to help.
It turns out that the rider had just finished rebuilding his bike, and was just off to see my local supplier of Bantam parts for some mudguard nuts and bolts, if memory serves, which it does with less reliability these days.
I live in Newport Pagnell, which is respectably distant from Milton Keynes, but close enough to make the facilities accessible if needed. The Bantam Rider was from Northampton, not a million miles away, in fact, about fifteen miles away. Riding these fifteen miles, OK, let's be generous and call it twenty by the time he arrived at his destination, and another twenty back again, was his shakedown run before setting off to ride to France(!). He'd managed 15 miles before having to tighten up various bits of bodywork to stop them falling off, which is why he had a spanner in his hand.
So, unknown bike, all been in pieces, every chance that something, possibly more than one something, may detach, explode or simply stop at any time and he's off to ride across the continent. That's how this country achieved greatness. Not by looking into the consequences of our actions, and listening to the Health and Safety brigade, but by seeing a challenge and grabbing it by the scruff of the neck until we met victory. Or wished we hadn't started the whole foolish escapade. Either really.
I never did get his name, and know nothing about him other than he was obviously a little touched by the hand of lunacy, and punctual - we didn't chat because he had to get to the parts supplier before he closed. But I wished him luck and a small part of me wished I was going with him. I say small part because it was my brain, and some have commented that, indeed, this is the smallest.
So, did he make it? If you know of the Mystery Man, please let me know. I am worried about him, in more ways than one.
Welcome to the English summertime!
Oh yes, welcome indeed. It's been sunny of late, enough to mean that the grass needs cutting, the weeds need removing and the flowers and shrubs need whatever a person does to flowers and shrubs doing to them. Frankly, horticulture, it's origins, methods and, indeed, purpose is lost on me. If the weeds want to grow, they're probably quite happy in their own way. If the grass gets longer, Spike the long-suffering Jack-Russell will enjoy it, he can chase the chickens into it and wait in ambush before surprising them and being chased out. But, apparently, this is Not Good in a respectable neighborhood, according to She Who Knows. So, weed, prune, cut and mow I must.
All of which leaves little time for tinkering. I have, however, gotten around to doing some of that. I whipped the dustcover off the Bantam and, lo and behold, there it was, un-dusty. No rust after a long winter, that's a good thing. Still not going. That's not so good. So I did what any amateur tinkerer must do in these circumstances. I made a list. Not only that, but I retrieved a chalkboard from under one of the beds in the spare room, and screwed it firmly onto the back of the garage door. Just above the amusing "Beware of the Bantam" sign I had firmly screwed into the door last summer. Then I got around to thinking about the list.
I went to the "spares to be applied" pile and dissected it. It contained a number of items which I had forgotten about. The levers, for instance, new ones I had bought at a show, didn't look right. They were straight blades and I'm sure I needed ball-end ones. So, I bought some more new ones, at another show, and put them in a box.
Now I needed to take action. So, I added "New Levers" to the list. Then I found the speedo gearbox I had bought, used, off of everybody's favourite auction site. It needs an overhaul, but it's likely to be more useful than the current gearbox, which suffers from an irredeemably rounded square drive. That'll never work. It went onto the list "Fit Speedo Drive".
I stood back to admire my work at this point. It needed more meat.
"Things to buy" That was the next thing. "Tank strip (one of)" I've got a right hand side one, I need a left. "Toolbox screws" they need sorting - see my last blog entry for the sorry tale. "Headlamp rim". Also a subject on the last blog entry. I amended the section title. It now reads "Things to buy again". Don't get me started!
On and on the list went. Sort this, fettle that, polish the other. The list of things I need to buy also grew, not least of which was a means of transporting the bike when it's finished. I do intend to ride it, oh yes, but being a reasonable amount over six feet tall, and built like a Real Man, I don't intend to ride it hundreds of miles at a time. So, if I'm going to shows which involve a motorway journey, I will transport it. It's only fair.
Then it was time for dinner. So, I re-fitted the cover, patted the saddle affectionately and went inside the house, having twirled not a spanner.
Welcome to Summer.
All of which leaves little time for tinkering. I have, however, gotten around to doing some of that. I whipped the dustcover off the Bantam and, lo and behold, there it was, un-dusty. No rust after a long winter, that's a good thing. Still not going. That's not so good. So I did what any amateur tinkerer must do in these circumstances. I made a list. Not only that, but I retrieved a chalkboard from under one of the beds in the spare room, and screwed it firmly onto the back of the garage door. Just above the amusing "Beware of the Bantam" sign I had firmly screwed into the door last summer. Then I got around to thinking about the list.
I went to the "spares to be applied" pile and dissected it. It contained a number of items which I had forgotten about. The levers, for instance, new ones I had bought at a show, didn't look right. They were straight blades and I'm sure I needed ball-end ones. So, I bought some more new ones, at another show, and put them in a box.
Now I needed to take action. So, I added "New Levers" to the list. Then I found the speedo gearbox I had bought, used, off of everybody's favourite auction site. It needs an overhaul, but it's likely to be more useful than the current gearbox, which suffers from an irredeemably rounded square drive. That'll never work. It went onto the list "Fit Speedo Drive".
I stood back to admire my work at this point. It needed more meat.
"Things to buy" That was the next thing. "Tank strip (one of)" I've got a right hand side one, I need a left. "Toolbox screws" they need sorting - see my last blog entry for the sorry tale. "Headlamp rim". Also a subject on the last blog entry. I amended the section title. It now reads "Things to buy again". Don't get me started!
On and on the list went. Sort this, fettle that, polish the other. The list of things I need to buy also grew, not least of which was a means of transporting the bike when it's finished. I do intend to ride it, oh yes, but being a reasonable amount over six feet tall, and built like a Real Man, I don't intend to ride it hundreds of miles at a time. So, if I'm going to shows which involve a motorway journey, I will transport it. It's only fair.
Then it was time for dinner. So, I re-fitted the cover, patted the saddle affectionately and went inside the house, having twirled not a spanner.
Welcome to Summer.
Friday, 24 April 2009
These parts are terrible!
OK, so this is going to be a bit of a whinge... I'll apologise now and get it out of the way.
I have a Bantam. Chances are you have a Bantam. I like my Bantam, you probably like yours too. I spend a lot of time tinkering with it. I take things off, I polish things, I straighten them where bent, I put it al back together again. It's quite a pleasing occupation, one which takes an investment of time and thought.
I imagine that all, or some, of the above also applies to you.
Mine has had everything stripped off of it, down to the bare frame, all of the paintwork stripped and re-sprayed, everything electrical overhauled or renewed, everything mechanical stripped, cleaned, fettled, adjusted, repaired or renewed. The wheels were stripped of spokes, the hubs sprayed, new bearings, new rims, new spokes. Everything.
I did all of this by myself, with the exception of the re-bore (I figured getting it right with a wood-lathe and dremel was unlikely, and the purchase price of a line-borer was slightly steep). I even built my own wheel jig.
You may have also been into your Bantam at the same depth as I have, you may not. Yours may not have needed it, or you may have been lacking the time and somebody else may have done it for you. I'm lucky, I've a technical mind and a whole history of unreliable cars in my past. This is my first full restoration and I was determined to do as much as possible myself. The fact that I didn't need to use my Bantam for everyday travel also helped.
It was a pleasure, I enjoyed it. Mostly. The fact that it doesn't run at the moment is a trifle disappointing, but, as I may have mentioned, I've a technical mind so I'll ask somebody else what the problem is at some point in the near future.
As I mentioned above, I mostly enjoyed the experience of restoration. The bits I didn't enjoy mainly involved parts. Either I didn't have the right ones, although that wasn't normally a massive problem as I live very close to one of the main Bantam parts suppliers. A true gent who is helpful, knowledgeable and very pleasant to spend time with.
On a number of occasions, mainly at shows, I have been tempted by other parts suppliers. Some things I bought used, in need of restorative work but in better structural condition than what I already had. These autojumble parts were a great saver of money for me and have enabled me to replace expensive items more quickly than if I had to buy them new. So that's a good thing.
Where the plan falls apart is, mainly, around shiny items. New stuff, and mainly chrome. You know the parts, the ones which you think "That's just what the Banty needs to look finished" and you spend more money than is justifiable acquiring said trinket. Get it home, try it and get very disappointed when it just plain doesn't fit.
If I were buying after-market luggage racks, or fly screens, non-original fitment items, or I found a BSA woggle pin for a Starfire which looked like it should fit, but wasn't specifically for my Bantam, that would be fair enough. I'm taking a gamble. I may have to fettle slightly to get the item fitted, it may never fit at all. I'm going in with my eyes open. I bought, at Stafford last year, a new seat cover. It was for a C15. The seat looked very similar but I didn't know if it was the right one. It was brand new, in it's packet and on an autojumble stand. The chap wanted a tenner, I asked if it would fit a Bantam. He said he didn't know, but if I wanted to take the chance, I could have it for £7. Deal done. It fits perfectly.
That isn't what I'm talking about though. Taking the chance is my choice. If it doesn't fit I can't complain. If it does, that's great and everyone is happy.
What really does annoy me is when I go to a well-known Bantam parts supplier, not a general motorcycle parts dealer who just happens to have some parts for Bantam's in his inventory, but an actual Bantam specialist, see parts labelled as being specifically for the Bantam (labelled by people who know about these things) and when I get them home, they don't fit.
Case in point - at a show last year, I bought some side panel studs. Both sides, the screw-in ones and the quarter-turn ones also. Paid full price for them, the same price I could have got from my local parts supplier. There was no real advantage to buying them at the show, just convenience and the "ooh, shiny" factor. Got them home, neither side fitted. The screw-in ones have a metric thread! Not the end of the world, I can re-tap them. The point is, I shouldn't need to, they're new, they're specifically for my bike. Not everyone has the appropriate tap and die set. The supplier must have known that the thread was wrong (I can't believe I'm the first person to notice this) why not label the part as having the wrong thread? Why not send them back and get the right ones? The other side, the quarter-turn ones were too short! They didn't even reach the clip's they use to lock-in. Nothing I can do about this at all.
I have also been caught out with a Bantam Headlamp Rim, fully labelled as such, with my bike's model number on the label, I even asked if it would fit and was assured that it would. Got it home, and yes, it fitted. There was no way I could secure it to the bike. The little lippy-thing that the screw-clip uses to hold the rim (and lens) in wasn't there. Just didn't exist.
I phoned both suppliers - they're well known so no problem to track down. To be fair, both told me to post the parts back and they would refund my money. That's just a faff, though, it's annoying that I have to do this. Neither supplier would confirm that they knew the parts wouldn't fit but neither seemed surprised, or questioned that it was a problem. One did say that the problem was us customers, which is reassuring. Apparently we want cheap parts. I can appreciate that. If I can pay £10 or £5 for the same part, I know which I would choose. There are issues of quality to take into account. My Bantam will do very few miles compared to my BMW tourer, or my car, so if I can pay £5 for a bearing which will last 20,000 miles, or £50 for one which will last 100,000 miles, I know what my choice will be. That's fair enough, there's a choice. When I'm paying for a part which doesn't fit, paying £7 rather than £12 is no saving at all. I have parts which just won't get used and that's £7 wasted, not £5 saved. I did offer this opinion to the Bantam Parts Dealer, but he was firmly of the opinion that the problem was down to us customers, nothing to do with him etc. We won't pay the price for the right parts.
I did ask if he gave people the information that these cheap parts weren't made for a Bantam and wouldn't fit, and the conversation went downhill fairly quickly from that point onwards. I never returned the parts, so the dealer is a few pounds up. I'll never return to that dealer though, so there's more profit lost than gained.
Is it really so hard to get the right parts, or where things do need a fettle to fit, just tell us before we give you our cash?
Saturday, 28 March 2009
One of the pleasures of life
My wife has just left me. Not for good, you understand, just for the day. She's gone to a Mothers Union Quiet Day, leaving me with instructions to clean all the bathrooms (we've got three upstairs, one down. I always forget the downstairs), hoover, walk the dog and do the shopping. So, naturally, having just waved her off, standing next to favourite, only, daughter, the first thing I've done is fire up the MacBook.
I reflected briefly on one or two things as I cooked breakfast. Firstly, why is a Woman's Work Never Done. If you want anything doing properly, do it yourself, that's been my motto for as long as I can remember, it's one of the reasons I never got on as a manager. So, the reason, Chez Browne at least, that a Woman's Work is Never Done is that there is rarely a Woman Doing It.
Secondly. Mothers Union. Why do they demand so much time from members that they rarely have enough time to do what the organisational identifier suggests they should be doing. Being Mothers. OK, Karen may be slightly exceptional, she has an unusual vocation, more of which at some point in the future, which means that she is far more involved in this sort of thing than most mothers, I think. Also, I can't fail to notice that most members are past that actively-mothering stage, where they can afford the luxury of time to reflect on all things motherly whilst not having to juggle washing nappies, dropping Tarquin at Ballet and Priscilla at Rugby whilst simultaneously trying to feed everybody within reasonable a time-frame.
The third thing I ruminated on with my toast was people in general, and how there are some very nice, genuine ones out there. Not a subject most people consider, I guess. I work mainly with salespersons. They are, to a person, very nice, I'm guessing. I have to guess because the ones I have worked with are generally very "alpha" in their outlook and aren't satisfied unless they have genuinely dominated everything in range. It's quite tiresome at times.
So, it was with great pleasure that I took some time out yesterday morning, irresponsibly close to the end of our sales quarter, to meet with Ron. I was notified on Thursday that a message had been left on the forum from a member looking for a carrier for his Bantam. I had one in the garage which I didn't plan to use, so we agreed that it would probably be what he was looking for and arranged a place to meet.
The Gods of Satellite Navigation were obviously aggrieved at being asked to function within the period interior of Ron's pleasingly aged Herald, and refused to believe that such an elderly form of transport could want to be directed toward anything as modern as a McDonald's restaurant and sent him North. Don't these Gods know that McDonald's was founded in 1940?
Anyway, when Ron had arrived I had spent some time fending off increasingly petulant telephone calls and emails from the sales team I support, and I didn't really have time to indulge in the cup of tea which was one reason for meeting at said establishment, the other being free parking. Seriously, if you ever find yourself on the road and needing a cup of tea, head for Ronald's place. That's Ronald McDonald, obviously, not the chap with the Herald, although I'm sure his tea is excellent, he's unlikely to thank me for a constant stream of strangers knocking on the door and asking for a brew.
Still, we spent some time chatting in the car park, and may even meet up at a transport festival later in the year, which will be something to look forward to.
The rack went, I got some space back in my garage, so I was pleased. Ron got a rack which works on his bike, for far less than the cost of a new one and certainly seems pleased with it. I got some money, not much, but I didn't ask for much. I wasn't going to use the rack, the price covered my fuel and a Chinese take away for Mrs. Browne and I last night, so Karen was happy also.
Could I have got more money for it? Almost certainly. I could have put it on eBay and let people try to out-snipe each other at the last minute. It wouldn't have done anything for their blood pressure and most would have been disappointed, so they're better off not knowing, really. Ron has a solution to his picnic-at-rally-carrying conundrum. I'm pleased that it will be used, rather than exercising the geometric aesthetics's of garage spiders and I'm pleased that I have a new friend, somebody who may not be close enough to call in to see for a cup of probably-excellent tea, but somebody I've met and with whom I share a common interest, and that is worth more than money, its one of the great pleasures of life.
I reflected briefly on one or two things as I cooked breakfast. Firstly, why is a Woman's Work Never Done. If you want anything doing properly, do it yourself, that's been my motto for as long as I can remember, it's one of the reasons I never got on as a manager. So, the reason, Chez Browne at least, that a Woman's Work is Never Done is that there is rarely a Woman Doing It.
Secondly. Mothers Union. Why do they demand so much time from members that they rarely have enough time to do what the organisational identifier suggests they should be doing. Being Mothers. OK, Karen may be slightly exceptional, she has an unusual vocation, more of which at some point in the future, which means that she is far more involved in this sort of thing than most mothers, I think. Also, I can't fail to notice that most members are past that actively-mothering stage, where they can afford the luxury of time to reflect on all things motherly whilst not having to juggle washing nappies, dropping Tarquin at Ballet and Priscilla at Rugby whilst simultaneously trying to feed everybody within reasonable a time-frame.
The third thing I ruminated on with my toast was people in general, and how there are some very nice, genuine ones out there. Not a subject most people consider, I guess. I work mainly with salespersons. They are, to a person, very nice, I'm guessing. I have to guess because the ones I have worked with are generally very "alpha" in their outlook and aren't satisfied unless they have genuinely dominated everything in range. It's quite tiresome at times.
So, it was with great pleasure that I took some time out yesterday morning, irresponsibly close to the end of our sales quarter, to meet with Ron. I was notified on Thursday that a message had been left on the forum from a member looking for a carrier for his Bantam. I had one in the garage which I didn't plan to use, so we agreed that it would probably be what he was looking for and arranged a place to meet.
The Gods of Satellite Navigation were obviously aggrieved at being asked to function within the period interior of Ron's pleasingly aged Herald, and refused to believe that such an elderly form of transport could want to be directed toward anything as modern as a McDonald's restaurant and sent him North. Don't these Gods know that McDonald's was founded in 1940?
Anyway, when Ron had arrived I had spent some time fending off increasingly petulant telephone calls and emails from the sales team I support, and I didn't really have time to indulge in the cup of tea which was one reason for meeting at said establishment, the other being free parking. Seriously, if you ever find yourself on the road and needing a cup of tea, head for Ronald's place. That's Ronald McDonald, obviously, not the chap with the Herald, although I'm sure his tea is excellent, he's unlikely to thank me for a constant stream of strangers knocking on the door and asking for a brew.
Still, we spent some time chatting in the car park, and may even meet up at a transport festival later in the year, which will be something to look forward to.
The rack went, I got some space back in my garage, so I was pleased. Ron got a rack which works on his bike, for far less than the cost of a new one and certainly seems pleased with it. I got some money, not much, but I didn't ask for much. I wasn't going to use the rack, the price covered my fuel and a Chinese take away for Mrs. Browne and I last night, so Karen was happy also.
Could I have got more money for it? Almost certainly. I could have put it on eBay and let people try to out-snipe each other at the last minute. It wouldn't have done anything for their blood pressure and most would have been disappointed, so they're better off not knowing, really. Ron has a solution to his picnic-at-rally-carrying conundrum. I'm pleased that it will be used, rather than exercising the geometric aesthetics's of garage spiders and I'm pleased that I have a new friend, somebody who may not be close enough to call in to see for a cup of probably-excellent tea, but somebody I've met and with whom I share a common interest, and that is worth more than money, its one of the great pleasures of life.
Taking my time
So, I'm back, it's been a busy couple of months and, as you may have noticed from Bill's column in the last issue of Banter, the site has been developing nicely, but maybe not as quickly as we'd have liked.
When I first spoke with Bill about helping to build the website, I confidently predicted that we could pull something together in a couple of days. In a way, I was right, we did (well, after a fair bit of to-ing and fro-ing about structures and other improbable things), ust not the final article.
In the past, when I developed sites, it was a solo effort. Normally it was because of a charity event of some kind in which I had some involvement (I've organised a number of cycle events in aid of Cancer Research), or it was my personal site, or the one I use to publicise my alter-ego (which may or may not be in the links section - don't view it with the lights out!).
The point is, I decided on a format, I knew what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. I was, to put it bluntly, in charge.
I'm a technical kinda guy and "in charge" isn't necesarily my natural position. I'm more of a follower. Because of this aspect of my personality, I like developing this one as a member of a team. There are more people who need to be consulted, there's more at stake than my ego - it's the public perception of us as a group and as individuals. What we do with this site tells the world a lot about us and that's some Serious Stuff. We need to consider it. Carefully.
All of this, of course, takes time.
As well as being a bit technical, I'm very used to the Fast-Food, Instant-Messenger, Instant-Gratification world. It's where I work. My company is based in Silicon Valley, California and decisions made before lunch are out-of-date by the time you've finished your vegetarian egg-white filet on sourdough crust. They're just so "this morning". Things change and, as a result, I've had to learn to adjust to that rate of change. If I ask my wife a question, I expect it answered before I've even thought about it. This isn't a trait which endears. On the other hand, she expects me to hang pictures before she's bought them, and to decorate before the decision on colour is made, so I guess that's equity if nothing else.
Amongst all of this rushing about, there is little time for cogitation, contemplation and just plain taking your time.
I count amongst my hobbies some rushing-around things, like mountain biking and (previously before broken bones and weakness of will stopped all the silliness) rugby and white-water kayaking. I can be dynamic when in the mood, or the situation dictates. I can also relax. I work from home, California being a bit of a distance to commute. Lots of meetings and presentations to customers are across the web. I have a lot of time on my hands, even during busy days. So I learnt to repair wristwatches. I've always loved watches and have many vintage examples. It's a bit of a standing joke Chez Browne. I love the fact that there's a tiny piece of hand-wound engineering on my wrist. I like the fact that I have the responsibility of winding it every day, or it will stop. Learning to repair was a logical progression for me, and I have a reasonably high success rate. It's something I have to concentrate on, and take my time over. I also repair clocks, same principle, less need for magnification.
Which brings me back to old motorbikes. I can't plug a diagnostic tool in, like I do with my car, and see what the problem is. I have to think about it, research it, ask people with far more knowledge than I have. It takes, in short, time.
The Bantam in my garage is there for a number of reasons. It was a present for my 40th birthday from my wife. It's the same age as me, all bar a couple of weeks, hence there was no choice on the model. I've always liked Bantam's, having spent many happy afternoons playing on an old Bantam Major in my Uncle's shed as a child. I don't feel guily about the amount spent on buying it, or restoring it. If it were a Vincent, I'd feel different. It fits my needs, it fits my budget. It doesn't fit me too well, I'm a reasonable amount over six feet tall, so look slightly comical on a bike my 9 year old daughter comfortably sits on with feet flat on the floor. When I'm working on it, I don't have all the answers and have spent many evenings in the garage, bike on the worbench, just figuring stuff out. It's relaxing.
All of this is just a long-winded way of saying, sorry that the site's taking a while but, like your favourite bike, there is a lot to take into consideration. Other people have an input to the completed whole, there are parts to arrive (pictures, biographies, opinions, that sort of thing) and I have to find time to bolt it all together. Albeit in a snug cosy study, not a cold draughty garage.
So, enjoy the progress, be assured that this project isn't going to appear on eBay next year, in boxes with bits missing. It will be completed and we will have the pleasure of riding it for, hopefully, many years to come.
Cheers all
Dick
When I first spoke with Bill about helping to build the website, I confidently predicted that we could pull something together in a couple of days. In a way, I was right, we did (well, after a fair bit of to-ing and fro-ing about structures and other improbable things), ust not the final article.
In the past, when I developed sites, it was a solo effort. Normally it was because of a charity event of some kind in which I had some involvement (I've organised a number of cycle events in aid of Cancer Research), or it was my personal site, or the one I use to publicise my alter-ego (which may or may not be in the links section - don't view it with the lights out!).
The point is, I decided on a format, I knew what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. I was, to put it bluntly, in charge.
I'm a technical kinda guy and "in charge" isn't necesarily my natural position. I'm more of a follower. Because of this aspect of my personality, I like developing this one as a member of a team. There are more people who need to be consulted, there's more at stake than my ego - it's the public perception of us as a group and as individuals. What we do with this site tells the world a lot about us and that's some Serious Stuff. We need to consider it. Carefully.
All of this, of course, takes time.
As well as being a bit technical, I'm very used to the Fast-Food, Instant-Messenger, Instant-Gratification world. It's where I work. My company is based in Silicon Valley, California and decisions made before lunch are out-of-date by the time you've finished your vegetarian egg-white filet on sourdough crust. They're just so "this morning". Things change and, as a result, I've had to learn to adjust to that rate of change. If I ask my wife a question, I expect it answered before I've even thought about it. This isn't a trait which endears. On the other hand, she expects me to hang pictures before she's bought them, and to decorate before the decision on colour is made, so I guess that's equity if nothing else.
Amongst all of this rushing about, there is little time for cogitation, contemplation and just plain taking your time.
I count amongst my hobbies some rushing-around things, like mountain biking and (previously before broken bones and weakness of will stopped all the silliness) rugby and white-water kayaking. I can be dynamic when in the mood, or the situation dictates. I can also relax. I work from home, California being a bit of a distance to commute. Lots of meetings and presentations to customers are across the web. I have a lot of time on my hands, even during busy days. So I learnt to repair wristwatches. I've always loved watches and have many vintage examples. It's a bit of a standing joke Chez Browne. I love the fact that there's a tiny piece of hand-wound engineering on my wrist. I like the fact that I have the responsibility of winding it every day, or it will stop. Learning to repair was a logical progression for me, and I have a reasonably high success rate. It's something I have to concentrate on, and take my time over. I also repair clocks, same principle, less need for magnification.
Which brings me back to old motorbikes. I can't plug a diagnostic tool in, like I do with my car, and see what the problem is. I have to think about it, research it, ask people with far more knowledge than I have. It takes, in short, time.
The Bantam in my garage is there for a number of reasons. It was a present for my 40th birthday from my wife. It's the same age as me, all bar a couple of weeks, hence there was no choice on the model. I've always liked Bantam's, having spent many happy afternoons playing on an old Bantam Major in my Uncle's shed as a child. I don't feel guily about the amount spent on buying it, or restoring it. If it were a Vincent, I'd feel different. It fits my needs, it fits my budget. It doesn't fit me too well, I'm a reasonable amount over six feet tall, so look slightly comical on a bike my 9 year old daughter comfortably sits on with feet flat on the floor. When I'm working on it, I don't have all the answers and have spent many evenings in the garage, bike on the worbench, just figuring stuff out. It's relaxing.
All of this is just a long-winded way of saying, sorry that the site's taking a while but, like your favourite bike, there is a lot to take into consideration. Other people have an input to the completed whole, there are parts to arrive (pictures, biographies, opinions, that sort of thing) and I have to find time to bolt it all together. Albeit in a snug cosy study, not a cold draughty garage.
So, enjoy the progress, be assured that this project isn't going to appear on eBay next year, in boxes with bits missing. It will be completed and we will have the pleasure of riding it for, hopefully, many years to come.
Cheers all
Dick
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