The Wheel of Fortune was much beloved of medieval minds. Blindfolded, Fortune spins her wheel. Some rise, others fall. That’s been me, this week.
Yesterday I collected the car, complete with new MOT, from Rob at Chevronics. I’m not sure it wants to be Hortense any more. I think it wants to be Steve McQueen, and try jumping over things. But that’s not my point. It sounds a lot less rumbly now that it hasn’t got a failed wheel bearing, which is interesting (but isn’t my point either). It also sounds like a farting frog, because the exhaust is blowing. The positive turn of the wheel is that the exhaust isn’t blowing because I did a bad job replacing the silencer – it’s blowing because there’s a hole in the cross box, which I’d tried to get away without changing. So although, on the face of things, it’s bad news, it’s actually good news because I did the job well. Just not far enough up the car. And I enjoyed yesterday’s deluge an unreasonable amount, because I was sitting in a car in in appropriate shoes looking out at the rain instead of sitting out in the rain.
On the falling side of fortune’s wheel is my sat-nav. 36 hours before I leave on a tour of the more obscure roads of North Yorkshire, the Garmin cradle has given up passing power to the unit. The Zumo itself still charges from a PC, but unlike Boffin, I don’t have a 3-pin socket in one of my panniers so that isn’t a massive help. Also on the down side are my army boots. The soles have split and are attempting to make a break for a new life on their own. I took them to Timpsons and the man with the apron on said “Time to buy a new pair love.”
These are the only boots I have ever had that are comfy to walk in as well as ride, and I found them by accident in Waterside Antiques in Ely after a whole day at the NEC trying on boots in the company of the Midnight Mud Wrestler. I can’t face doing going through that again.