Karmic Happenings at the Beachfront

I’m appealing for help from the interweb community and particularly those who specialise in ancient rituals or kharma. I need to know whether there is any great significance in being covered in dog slobber. In a restaurant. Where there shouldn't, by rights, be any dogs - especially huge ones.

I’m being serious here because yesterday I was singled out for a karmic happening. Yeah man, Kozmik. Or it might be bloody scary, depending on what sort ancient proverbs are covered by the scene I am about to describe.

Let me set the scene. I am in the Takapuna Beach Cafe to have lunch with a friend of a friend who is a publisher. His name is Josh and he is going to very generously allow me to pick his brains about publishing in the hope that it might be useful.

The cafe is very busy with the inside tables and those out on the expansive deck full of people. A happy buzz is in the air and it is a stunning, sunny afternoon on the beachfront.

Suddenly I see it. A horse-sized dog, sort of like a St Bernard with coat like a lion. It races along the deck and in through the doors that are opened onto the deck. This monstrous animal has been racing around on the beach and his mouth is foaming – the muzzle thick with slobber that hangs down in huge, glistening stalactites.

Out of all the people in that packed cafe, who do you think the dog chooses to set his radar lock onto. Who do you think he lopes straight up to and into whose lap does he stuff his face?

That’s right, me.

HE BLOODY CHOOSES ME

By the time I’ve shoved this abomination of an animal away my hands are also covered in thick drool, spittle and slobber. 

The owner of this animal is particularly lucky that I was expecting company at any minute because I would have tracked them down and had a not-so-quiet word.

Is this karma? Does this event have a greater significance in the grand scheme of the universe and all that?

I need to know whether there is an ancient Chinese proverb that covers this situation.

Something like “man in restaurant chosen by dog to slobber on will receive many riches and be very wise with untold beauteous virgins at his service.”

But knowing my luck it’s more likely to involve the shrinking of genital organs and enlargement of the arse.

Conceding Defeat

I went to fix a problem with my TDM motorbike last weekend. On a previous ride weekend it seemed to be running very rich and at one stage, after an extended run at 30mph, it was coughing like a 50-a-day smoker. 
 

According to the website Carpe TDM, these things suffer from wear in the carbs that causes the richness problem. I had been wary that mine might have it, so I had my suspicions. I got some parts and last Saturday morning, donned my neatly washed and ironed with sharp creases overalls. Striding purposefully across the garage, spanner in hand I removed the fairing, tank and seat. There nestled neatly between the frame rails were ..... a birdsnest of tubes. Reminded me of opening a can of spaghetti. OK. Be methodic. Make sure you mark everything so you can stick it all back together again.

Must be time for a coffee. Diversion has always been a character flaw of mine when confronted with anything even a little bit difficult.

This is a "what the hell is that" moment.

Because I had nice clean overalls on, I was allowed in to sit at my computer when normally I have to take it all off. Grease spots on the stairway carpet is a bit of a no-no in our house and guaranteed to cause the onset of Force 9 grumpiness among certain inhabitants.

www.carpetdm.com..... “err, where are the fastenings?” I typed.  “Has anyone actually taken Mk2 carbs off...... how do you do it?”

There is an unnerving silence on carpetdm.com, the exceedingly rare internet equivalent of hearing a pin drop. I am starting to get a feeling about this. A nervous feeling.

The best I can get is from the TDM maestro, “Studley Ramrod” (I kid you not) is “well, the Mk 1 is much easier.”

Geoff Green arrives. We have a cup of tea and we both poke around using screwdrivers, allen keys, and glasses with thick lenses while holding a Maglite torch in our teeth. There is a lot happening between those frame rails.

There is the sound of a penny dropping.

I am a reasonable basic mechanic. But the most important thing among my repertoire of spannering skills is when to drop the screwdriver, put everything back together while you can, and so you can start the machine in order to ride it to the local dealership.

Because there is nothing more soul destroying than turning up with part of a bike on a trailer, the rest of it in the boot of the car, and a plastic ice cream container full of screws, nuts, bolts, hoses and clips. The dealer will for sure have a look on his face that says...  this person is going to make  contribution to my Ferrari F40 savings fund.

I conceded defeat. I buttoned up the TDM and on Thursday I rode it to the dealership. It was a stunning day, and as I waited for Lins to pick me up on her way home from work, I leaned against the bike and basked in the warm late afternoon sun and talked bike talk with the owner and a mechanic and someone who was unloading a dead KTM motocrosser from his flatbed. The sun warmed my outside, and my insides were warmed by the dealer’s “Ferrari Fund” look being directed at the person dropping off an orange European-built race bike.