Envelope in hand, I rip the end open excitedly. Hold the shiny copper in my hand and hope it does the trick.
A few weeks ago Rufio developed a rattle that’s had me worried. I’d asked the guys installing the fresh rear tire what they thought, frowned skeptically at their diagnosis. You’ve got a major exhaust leak and will need a whole new exhaust.
Tightening the exhaust bolts helped, but to this untrained mechanic a new copper washer seemed like the real fix. So I’d asked online where to order one. Felt downright elated when Todd wrote back, Merry Christmas from us at Palmetto Motorsports, the washer is in the mail.
Gift in hand, I roll Rufio into the shade. Leave Baylor snoozing in the air conditioning and prepare for a little afternoon wrenching.
Tool roll laid out, I grab the necessary sockets. Take a moment to appreciate their delightfully tiny utility. Craning my neck, I peer up to the spot where the head meets the exhaust. Remove the bolts. Loosen the clamp bolt along the side. Wiggle, pull, wiggle. Sit back, go by feel. Look again and pull the old washer loose. Holding the beaten, broken washer in my hands I feel a strange sense of joy mixed with nerves. Happy that my diagnosis seemed right, nervous the rattle will remain after I install the fresh one.
Washer in place, bolts tightened, I stand up. Turn the key, hold my breath, press the starter. Grin as Rufio purrs to life. It’s a small thing. A tiny fix in the scheme of mechanical know-how. But still. This marks the very first time I’ve diagnosed and fixed a motorcycle issue all by myself.
Feeling rather accomplished, I kill the engine. Reorganize supplies in preparation for an oil change. A task that once seemed overwhelming now seems routinely simple.
Wiping the grease from my hands, I smile. Using this adventure to force myself into becoming the person I envision is working. Ever so slowly and incrementally progress is being made. I’m not there yet, but each day on the road leaves me closer than I’ve ever been to being a real adventurer, a knowledgeable mechanic, a capable woman of the wilds. And for that I’m thankful.
Sun blazing low on the horizon, I open the door, What do you think buddy? Should we take Rufio on a little shake down run? Search out someplace pretty and see how everything holds?
He trots down the stairs, leaps into the sidecar. Looks up expectantly awaiting goggles and a cookie.
I laugh. Man, you really were meant to be a sidecar dog. Cookie dispersed, I lean down. Kiss the top of his furry head, Let’s hit the road.
207 days down. Many to come.
