Dismantling

Dismantling is a bit of a misnomer, many would just call it being into mechanics, or fixing things, or a love of automotive, or being a "car-guy". That is not what I mean though. Sure all those things are true to some extent, but the thing I am really good at is pulling things apart to find the problem. I am really good at starting a project, and this short story is the longest answer to the question how did I end up with four dismantled motorcycles.

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The prologue to a book I've never got around to reading says, among other things something along the lines of:

"This book should in no way be associated with the great body of factual information relating to orthodox Buddhist Zen practice, nor is it very factual on motorcycles either."

This statement rings as true for me and my passions as it does for Robert M. Pirsig.

The canvas for which my hobby is stitched to is formed before I have even developed memories, photos of me on a police motorcycle, stories of sitting on the tank of my Dad's dirt bike while we speed down the highway with my small hands the only ones at the handlebars. I was 3 at the time.

The dark black tapestry wool creates the outline of my hobby. It started not long after I could ride a push-bike. My dad bought me my first motorbike, a small red Honda 50cc. I would ride around on it all day through the soon-to-be estate next to our house, then on the first Saturday of the month I would ride at a group training event called mavricana. I even have a medal for when my group rode around an oval for the town fair.

Riding was and is my Zen. My mindfulness. Where I am present and the rest of the world drains away. There are videos of me riding through paddocks singing songs as if no one could hear me (I thought they couldn't).

This love of riding is the most prominent colours of black and grey in this tapestry we weave together.

Next we follow the dark shade of grey wool. Through my teens when I didn't have a motorbike to ride, instead I rode my mountain bike, always on two wheels. Riding to the shops, riding to school, riding to friends houses, riding down the steepest hills we could find, threading our way through the trees and trails of the forests. We would often ride to a friend's house, who's bike would inevitably be broken from our last session. Riding bikes leads to broken bikes which need fixing.

This is where we start to follow the next thread.

When work experience came around at school, I picked up a light yellow soft cotton and started the stitch that winds through my working career, beginning a cross stitch pattern that offsets with the brown soft cotton of schooling. I rode up to the local bike store to start learning how to be a good work.. guy.

When I arrived for my first day I arrived at 8:15am. I was 15 minutes late, another common but unrelated theme of my tapestry. I had been told to arrive at 8.

The doors were locked, I knocked, no one answered. Maybe they were in the back office.. I knocked louder, a voice behind me asked if what the hell I was doing.

"Well, I hope you're as eager to work as you were trying to break down the doors."

I was paid in bike parts for my fortnight's work.

As we wind deeper into the tapestry I can follow the light yellow soft cotton through successive jobs, next comes paper rounds (on my bike), and the lawn mower store.

The brown school cotton disappears behind the tapestry, yellow cutting a more bold colour and pattern. The mechanics apprenticeship and the tire fitting lasted for some time. A solid bronze loop of book reading Mouline Strand makes a brief but brilliant appearance intercepting the brown soft cotton’s pattern.

A book written by a NASA engineer Bob Brant published in 1993, Build Your Own Electric Vehicle.

The yellow career cotton flows under the bronze book loop then the pattern becomes thinner for while as the brown schooling cotton remakes a bold appearance, criss-crossing each other until the career thread twists around changing direction again, toward engineering.

As we move along the tapestry a nice silvery pearl cotton is picked up, vacation, a brief twist around the yellow soft cotton and I find myself in a small speakeasy late one night. A speakeasy hidden behind a tiny convenience store on the infamous bar street, Shenzhen, China.

Here from seemingly nowhere we pick up a thin delicate golden satin thread of chance.

I am chatting with a start-up entrepreneur from Australia, he's building an autonomous robot for organic farming. They are just working on the AI that will distinguish plants from weeds. Interesting stuff. Soon we get onto our past history and interests, it seems we have similar backstories. Both have worked in the automotive industry, and have a love for motorbikes. I mention my desire to one-day build an electric vehicle, and my recent realization that electric motorcycles might be a more viable alternative to building a full car.

All I would need is a donor bike to start..

It just so happens that my new friend has a workshop, one he runs as a maker-space and also a motorbike that has been sitting around for roughly 10 years just waiting for someone to do something with it, contacts within Shenzhen that he is using for his robot. Everything I would need for my first e-bike build.

So, all of these threads that hold me together, stitched in various patterns, some loose, some tighter, have painted a blurry picture of my past, but not answered the burning question. How did I end up with 4 dismantled motorbikes? How does this help me disconnect from the world?

Well, I met my friend back in Melbourne and was introduced to his maker-space, a place for like minded individuals from the community to come together and work on projects. I became acquainted with the motorcycle in question. These became the bright threads of red pearl cotton of my week. After the drudgery of a working week it was good to have a space to disconnect from the world, to dismantle something, to find the issues that needed resolving. To spend time with like minded people and do something that is a part of me, but not a part of my everyday.

The first bike? That was too good to be chopped apart, that one we have plans to restore, rebuild the motor and make it something special. The second bike? That was the one my friend bought to ride while the first one was being built, it also needs some work. The third bike? That’s my bike, the first road bike I had, it had been sitting around for some time, it was dismantled to either be the donor bike for the electric build, or so I could build a little café racer, I never decided. And the fourth bike? That's the donor bike to fix the second bike.

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Right now the threads for this pattern are tangled in a bit of a knot. The frayed hessian thread of covid is the main cause, twisted around a new bundle of light in the dark family thread. One day I hope to see a one completed bike weaved into my tapestry, but dismantling has been the most Zen pass-time for me..

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