A bright sunny morn, with a meeting in Inverness at 10:00am, so up with the lark and out the door by half seven, plenty of time to ride the 120 miles up the A9. So tank bag on and a full tank, with a check-over of all the levels and pressures the night before I set off on Sally. This was before the 'Average speed' cameras had been installed all the way from the Kier roundabout to Perth and then on up to Inversneckie, so a steady canter at 70-75mph, light traffic, sun and the Highlands beckoning.
The road bridge just outside Kingussie hove into view, with traffic lights controlling single lane traffic, whilst the expansion joints and the deck sealing was being renewed, so with no other traffic on my side and the lights against me, I eased off and came to a halt in front of the lights.
HOLY MOLY!!!!!!!!!!!!
I was enveloped in a cloud of vapourising petrol!!!!!!!
Turn off, remove key, flick sidestand out and remove myself to a safe distance and spy that the carb is overflowing fuel onto a 'warm' motor and the underslung expansion box of the BSM 'Futura' exhaust! But, the vacuum petrol tap is working, so when the vapour cloud dissipates and there is no ignition, I cautiously return to the bike.
On the mobile, I explain my predicament, arrange for pick-up by a colleague and start pushing the bike towards the Kingussie turn off. I had only pushed for a couple of hundred yards, when a black and chrome, with blacked out rear windows and 'bling' alloys, VW van pulls up and the driver dressed in a black suit, white shirt, polished black patent shoes and a black tie, pulling on purple latex gloves asks "Where yous going pal?". "Inverness" says I and the snappily dressed Glaswegian offers me a lift, "Once I've sorted out the boxes in the back". The doors are opened to reveal two plain coffins and some body bags and dust sheets!
"Are you sure this is OK?" "Aye, its ma business, people need bodies ferried aboot and this is the cheapest way of doing it, rather than the hearse" (Nae sweary words here pal!). So, with the ramp into the back set, Sally was wheeled in and secured with straps used to stop the coffins sliding about. I rang my colleague and advised of the new ETA and enjoyed the craic all the way to Inversneck at a sedate 50mph. "No point in gettin' a ticket in an undertakers van!"
On arrival, because the office is near the Raigmore mourge, I was driven to the office and the bike unloaded with due ceremony, whilst colleagues marvelled at the coffins laid out on the pavement. No fee was charged, "I'm going there anyway and the jobs paid for!" No acceptance of a note for a wee dram, nothing.
If you are in Scotland, get the Co-Op to do your funeral!
The run home was less interesting, but at above the national motorway speed limit for much of the way,
with Sally strapped to the back of a small recovery lorry. Sally was unloaded and pushed into the workshop, then a cup of tea and the mannie was on his way back North again. I dropped the carb float bowl and found a lump of grit stuck to the rubber tip of the float needle!
I have no idea how it got there, as the filter in the carb on the feed side was in good nick, but a small filter has been in the fuel line ever since.
And "Thanks" to the "Last man to let you down!"
Slainte.
