It's spring! – column

After an autumn of a year, it's spring again! Then it's time to pull the old iron out from under the clammy rags again. The prospects were good. When hibernating, I had put the retirees away each with a gallon or two of Aspen in their respective tanks. Aspen is that difficult petrol that municipal officials in the parks department and gardeners use because the combustion gases Alpine air are pure. For us, the fact that the stuff does not age is most important. For the two people who don't know yet: The current petrol at the pump turns into washing water after about six weeks, including sediment around the well.

With six fresh volts in the battery, the first start-up of my Russian-Ukrainian hybrid seemed like a breeze. But the clutch cable had apparently developed clutch carpal tunnel syndrome from a few nights outside the garage – because the place was needed for something else.

The old-school approach is then a funnel to tinker with the cable end, clamp the whole straight and pour oil into the funnel and then wait a few hours. While waiting, the twin could of course be started once. That starting went well thanks to the Aspen. The newly fitted mufflers turned out to have a nice, deep bass bark. The combination of low compression and a very mild camshaft profile creates music, not noise. That's nice. The new girl next door runs by with her hands over her ears. The child clearly has no understanding of camshaft profiles. Meanwhile, the oil in the funnel has settled convincingly and there is a new puddle of oil on the garage floor.

The inner cable moves smoothly, and when I stroke it affectionately, a broken steel wire protrudes about an inch into my thumb. I go inside to put on a plaster and send an email to the unsurpassed Jan Wassenaar. Because a fresh clutch cable is a good investment at the start of the season.  

At walking pace, the tricycle rolls off the false flat from the garage path. On public roads, the combination appears to have a strong tendency to 'tank slack' at a corridor of about forty kilometers. Tightening the steering damper doesn't really help. I turn and go back blaming the Praxis. At the end of last season I aligned the tricycle with slats from the Praxis. The construction wood of the Praxis is so young that it will take root again when you put it in the ground and it is not straight either. Now such an ex-Soviet cart horse is not hyper sensitive to the alignment, but apparently there are limits. So next week to the Hornbach where they have better stuff for less money.

In the meantime, I grab a cigar and think about where I left off with the build-up of my Chang Jiang. By the way, that heartless clone of a BMW R75/5 is an example of the fact that it is better to tie such a job to a deadline. I look at the thing endearingly and grab a crutch to mount the spacers on the right side between frame and block. A fat Guzzi Falcone rumbles up the driveway. Time for coffee and chat. De Guzzi disappears for a round of Havikerwaard. I sit back on the stool. Until friend Theo comes growling on an R69S. Also cosy. But will that Chang ever be finished?