As many of you know, GayCarBoys are fond of all wheels, even if there are only two of them.

After a hiatus of many years, I started riding bikes again about 12 years ago. That is a thrill that some will never know, but it is not without pitfalls. Weather can be moody, and potholes are more of a bother than when one is on 3 wheels or more.

The 2014 Kawasaki Z1000, a pride-and-joy, is something for special occasions. It is beautiful, powerful, and quicker than most supercars. 2.4 seconds to 100kph is not something enjoyed daily, but it is good to know, especially for bragging rights at the pub.

That brings me to a certain sunny Sunday with a light sea breeze, a gorgeous day of promise.

The Z1000 deserved an outing, because like most of us, she dislikes staying at home for long periods. Covid carved the heart out of enjoyable weekends away, and lockdown had done the bike’s battery no favours. Despite good intentions, it scores less than one start a month, doing 20,000kms in 8 years. 17,000 of those prior to Covid.

Riding always seems like a great idea, and one must gear-up, with  even the shortest trips being full stage productions. Stout Boots and gloves, triple-layer jeans made of Kevlar, armoured jackets, and a helmet Darth Vader would be proud of must be worn. It is rather like Lady Grantham getting dressed for dinner, except it takes longer. This was made worse by a jammed zipper.

As I made my way to the lift, I knew the prospect of a quick getaway was dim at best.

I inserted the key and pressed the starter, and to my shock, it fired into life, reluctantly. I knew my luck was hanging by a thread. The intended 3-hour ride required juice, the expensive stuff, and that meant a stop soon after leaving the safety of the underground lair.

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ABOVE: 2014 Kawasaki Z1000 with a dead battery and an unhappy owner

After filling her to the brim, I pressed the starter and prayed. This time my prayer was answered by a hunky scooter rider, not the now-flat battery. As it turned out, I had already used the single start left in it.

“Thanks Mate,” I shouted. I’d loved to have thanked him some more, but the risk of stopping again presented more than a few problems. People are often surprised that a gay man of a certain age rides a fast bike, but none as surprised that he likes to look at pretty hunks.

After a few blocks I was schvitzing like a demented sprinkler, so decided the winter lining had to come out of the jacket. However, if you try to lower the side stand without shifting to neutral, the engine cuts out. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was that. The Z1000 was as dead as an election promise.

The only bright side was a full charge on the phone.

I checked my insurance company to see if there is roadside assist included, or rather, I would have been able to check if their poxy office was open. By now inconvenience was turning to despair, brows were becoming furrowed.

I rang a couple of local friends who have those natty little mobile battery jump-starter thingies, but all were too far away to help.

I manically stabbed at the phone, googling bike-recovery services. It’s not as easy as you may think,  and it took a couple of calls to secure a bloke called Abdul and his trusty flatbed. Then it started to rain, ever so lightly. “oh FFS”, i uttered.

I was in a terrible funk, utterly fed up.

It was then I remembered roadside assistance that I always get with press cars. A quick call, and I was joined up with the promise of an NRMA man coming to my rescue. He missed the corner a couple of times but hey ho.

The only services NRMA really offer motorcyclists is a jump start or tow.

I motored out to La Perouse to stand by the ancient outcrops looking out to sea. Of course the afternoon had turned turtle and was now freezing cold. Trying to put the winter lining back in the jacket in a Force 10 gale required more patience than was available.

I returned to my lair, frozen. The day was ruined and I was in a frightful bate.

There are a few morals to the story:

  • No matter who you are, you need roadside assist
  • Treat your vehicle with more than smidge of respect.
  • If the day starts badly, go back to bed.
  • There is nothing to be grateful for stuck on the side of the road. It sucks donkey bars.

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