Call Forth Thy Mighty* Chariot

*for a given level of mighty. Obvs...

Covid had a massive and quite frankly bellenderous part to play in the delivery of the bike. Mainly in that C-19 just got in the way of very good people trying to help. So screw you, bat flu!

Eventually, some rather nice people managed to recover the bike from Senor El Stephen and bring it 432 miles south to my front door. Weirdly they'd not accept, tea, biscuits or the use of the loo.

Either way angels sang, the skies parted and all myriad of creatures* rose up to praise the GPZ when it was unveiled from the Luton van. I must admire the way that the delivery driver managed to reverse around the gate and corner to our house with the utmost of ease.

And there it was before me in all it's magnificence. With not one but two keys in the lock and a significant bag of spares nonchalantly swinging from  a handle bar as though the bike itself had a devil may care attitude towards the supplied Haynes manual. And a full tank of fuel no less!

Attach the earth wire, a couple of stabs of the starter and it lives! It lives! Possibly not the most healthiest of lives, but it's firing on most of it's two cylinders which is a bonus if ever I've seen one. And Sam seems to like it a lot. I take that as a good sign.

It's spraying oil all over the floor from the forks with gay abandon mind. Not the end of the world though as after 160ml it'll stop.


Hello bike. we've got a long way to go together, let's be Excellent to One Another.

Please. Pretty please?




*couple of disinterested magpies and a crow.



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