When I was a kid, I had a proper sense of smell, and smells had associations strong enough to stop me in my tracks. Since the Black Bullet came to live with us, the shed has been smelling like the quiet refuge of a man should. The brash machinations of Capitalism don't get in, not with a tie on, although people, even Capitalists, are still welcome.
I sometimes smell that metallic petroleum scent on my hands when I'm at work, or when I settle down for the night. It's calming and confident and if I were a girl, I'd like to think it would turn me on.
This evening for the first time I rode the bike up to the Ridgeway and back without any trouble. OK, I noticed a bit of oil smoke rising from around the rocker cover - when I stopped to take the photo above. And I had to keep the choke out a little to even out the lumpy running, but we're almost there for this 're-commissioning' stage.
I spent some time this morning installing an inline fuel filter, after seeing the crud that came out of the tank (see other photos). I'll run it like this until a filter comes up clean. I've learned enough to know that carburettors and grit don't mix, even old ones.
Once I've learned how to tune the carb, and sorted out the registration, i'll get some serious riding in. The summer's almost done but the bright days of Autumn will do nicely.
I've written to the Enfield Club dating officer (sounds like a singles thing, which of course the Bullet 350 is) to query the negative aspects of his report. Once the registration issue is decided it will be hard to shift, so I want to go in with the best chance for an age related plate. He says the bike is original in every respect, he's just not sure it's one bike.
It's been a good day, time to sleep.
