Let us briefly discuss wiring.
I sort of understand it. The black wire goes from the battery, through the ignition switch and makes electricity go to places. The green wire comes from the generator/alternator, goes through the ignition and also makes electricity go to places. But only when the engine is running.
This makes it quite challenging to test the electrics as the engine hasn’t run since around the same time that Tony Blair was elected on a wave of “Things can only get better”. Little Project is not considering running for PM (or so it says) and as far as I know has never been mentioned in the same sentence as war crimes.
I tried kicking over the engine. We still have a nice fat spark and we still have no internal combustion. I formed a plan.
The neighbours were having a barbie. They watched, bemused as I ran up and down the garden trying to bump start the bike. The garden has probably about 20 yards of bumping space, mostly laid to lawn. Well, it was laid to lawn. Little Project proved that the new tyres have considerable bite by ripping up a trail of grass (and dirt). I now have to explain why there are several bald bits on the lawn. It looks a little bit like parts of Belgium during the battle of the Bulge.
Never daunted I thought I would try bumping it down the grassy little lane that runs alongside the house. There’s a clear path here, partly made by my other bike, partly by the many urban foxes who live on the vegetable patch and partly made by the man who comes and steals rhubarb from the vegetable patch (the foxes don’t like rhubarb).
This was no more successful. There is just a deeper rutted clear path down the little grassy lane. There is also a bit of apricot tree missing. It was hanging over the fence and I was to busy pushing and jumping to notice it.
This was when I had a better plan.
There’s a church next door to the little grassy lane. We aren’t really on speaking terms with the church since they tried to annexe the vegetable patch and turn it into additional car park. The church members accidentally knocked down the fence and then accidentally kept parking cars between (and sometimes over) the plum trees. The church has a nice tarmac covered lane that runs slightly downhill to their legitimate car park. Just the thing (I thought).
“Would anybody care to help me try to start Little Project?” I asked the house? The silence was deafening. I press ganged youngest because he was revising for exams by watching some women gyrate on youTube. Good revision I’m sure, but not for a public service exam.
“All you have to do is push me really fast through the church car park”.
“But, but, what about…”
“Never mind all that. You just push as fast as you can”.
I really should have listened.
Perhaps you can imagine the scene. There’s a plumpish old chap sitting on a tiny little motorbike. No footrests so legs are raised up and forwards. There’s a gangly 6’2″ teenager, in his slippers, pushing frantically behind.
“Faster!” I cried. “F%$k off” can the mumbled response but we gained speed. I crunched the bike into second gear and the engine started turning over, we had a few bangs and backfires, “Even Faster” I yelled, “It’s going to start!”.
It didn’t. We had some smoke, we had the smell of burning petrol and we had the sense of getting close to something monumental. We also had the church communion looking at us aghast. The boy said “I was trying to tell you that it’s Sunday and everyone will be in there but you just wouldn’t listen” and then he legged it. Leaving me to wave sheepishly at the pastor and his flock as I wheeled Little Project forlornly back to the shed.
Tell you what though. It’s looking pretty good.