NaNoWriMo 11/03/2007 - Revs

“There’s a ritual to this madness.” he says to himself as he sets the torque wrench for 18.5 pound-feet and tightens the brake caliper bolt. He’s been in the shed all night. As his neighbors slept and snored and made love and dreamed and got up to take a late night piss, he worked on the bike, his only companion the cat and the dj on the transistor radio.

“It’s 3:12 and time for the traffic report…the roads are totally clear because everyone is asleep as they should be. If you are awake, then, like me, you are not well.”
The carbs are off the bike and are on the workbench.

“It’s 4:42 and time for the traffic report…there are about 2 dozen people on the road, delivering the morning paper and other everyday pre-dawn activities that the rest of the world takes for granted.”
The radiator is drained and refilled.

“It’s 5:00 and your listening to W.R.A.P. It’s time for Old Skool at 5! Here’s MC Hammer’s ‘You Can’t Touch This.’”
The front forks are removed, each leg emptied of it’s oil and refilled.

“It’s 6:30 and time for the weather. It’s going to be another spectacular day, high in the low 80s with low humidity. It’s going to be bright sun and blue skies with just a few clouds high in the sky. Take advantage of the day, because there’s a storm coming our way. It should arrive by the weekend, bringing high winds and plenty of much-needed rain.”
The front brakes are removed, pads changed, and fluid changed.

The cat’s had a more interesting evening than either him or the disc jockey. It started out normally enough, sitting there at the end of the workbench, near the old gooseneck desk lamp because it gives off a nice warmth. The radio played an eclectic mix, which she didn’t mind - it was the mind-numbing (even for a cat) late night commercials that repeated and repeated and then repeated some more. There she sat, warmed by the gooseneck lamp in the cool evening in the shed, getting sleepy slowly, eyelids (all 4 of them) gaining weight and mass until they closed shut. Every once in a while he’d make a sound - dropping a spanner wrench on the workbench or making the ratchet clickclickclick - and her eyes would open suddenly. Her ancestors may have been domesticated thousands of years ago by the Egyptians, but she did have some primal instincts left like awakening to a strange sound. But upon seeing that nothing was wrong, her eyelids would thicken once again and asleep she went.

At about 5:15am she was startled by a squeal.

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