Unfortunately, there were a lot of puddles, and as I came down the other side of the pass I hit one right in the middle. At that moment I realized my waterproofs were pretty ineffective. But worse than that, the engine stopped. It coughed and spluttered several times before cutting out completely. I rolled to a halt, then gave the starter a kick.
Nothing.
I tried again, with hopes sinking. I already had a suspicion about what the problem might be. It was confirmed when I removed the points cover from the engine and rainwater came running out. This meant I was going to have to sit for hours waiting for the points to dry off.
That’s handy, I thought.
There was no shelter here, no trees or buildings, only grassy slopes rising up into the wet mist. Vainly I tried kicking the bike over again, but without success. The thought then came into my mind that I could push it along until I got to somewhere less exposed. Maybe I’d even find a nice dry café just along the road where I could sit and wait. I quickly dismissed this idea, though, as I knew for a fact that there wasn’t anything for miles, apart from scattered farms and the occasional private residence. So I stayed where I was, and paced around idly watching rivulets form at the edge of the road. From time to time a vehicle would go by, the driver glancing momentarily in my direction before passing on. Then, after about twenty minutes, a school minibus approached. It was similar to the one I’d seen Gail boarding each morning at the front gate, but I noticed immediately that the occupants were wearing a different-coloured uniform. As the minibus slowed down for the next bend I was aware of a dozen pink faces looking out at me.
There then followed a prolonged spell during which I began to wonder what exactly I was going to do. The rain showed no sign of easing up, and the bike still refused to start. Yet there was no point in abandoning it and going to look for help. After all, nothing actually needed repairing. It just required a chance to dry out. Again I thought how foolish it was to be travelling by motorcycle on a day like this.
After another ten minutes had passed I heard a vehicle approaching from the south. I glanced towards the bend as it appeared, and instantly recognized Mr Parker’s pick-up with the trailer in tow. He pulled up beside me.
“You seem to be getting quite attached to the area,” he remarked, by way of greeting.
“Engine’s stopped,” I replied.
“I thought you were going to get away early.”
“I did.”
“No,” he said. “That was nowhere near early enough.”
He got out and looked at the bike.
“The points got wet,” I explained.
He nodded. “Always the same with these old machines. They let the water in too easily.”
“Just needs to dry out.”
“Well, it’ll never get dry here.”
“Doesn’t look that way.”
“Not in a month of Sundays.” A moment passed, and then he added, “Tell you what, why don’t we take it home and put it in my shed?”
“Don’t you mind?” I asked.
“Of course not,” he said. “Can’t leave you here, can I?”
I couldn’t see what choice I had. This was the first time the bike had ever let me down. Now I was stuck and Mr Parker offered the best remedy, so I decided to accept. A few minutes later we had the bike loaded onto his trailer and were on our way north again. The cab heater was turned on full, and very soon there was steam rising from my damp waterproofs.
“Been anywhere interesting?” I asked.
“Had a delivery to make,” he replied. “Bit of business, you know. Quite fortunate you breaking down where you did.”
“Yeah, suppose so.”
“I always think a journey’s more worthwhile if I get a return load as well.”
“Oh…er…yeah,” I said. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
Sometime later when we passed Bryan Webb’s place Mr Parker slowed down and peered towards the property. I couldn’t see what he was looking at exactly, but as far as I could make out his attention was focused on the flatbed lorry parked in Bryan’s Dutch barn. He didn’t pass comment on it, however, and we had soon passed by. After another twenty-five minutes we arrived in his top yard.
“Welcome back,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“If you like you can put your bike in the big shed. That’ll be best for getting it dry.”
“Alright.”
“Maybe we should get Kenneth Turner to give it a look-over before you go off anywhere again.”
“I don’t think it’ll be worth it,” I said. “I’m sure there’s nothing seriously wrong.”
“Well, have a think about it anyway.”
“OK.”
I walked over to the shed and slid the doors back. Immediately I detected the same semi-industrial smell that had hung over the place before, and it gave me an odd sense of returning to somewhere familiar. Glancing within I saw that two rows of wooden blocks had been laid out in the middle of the floor, next to the boat we’d moved the other day. I wheeled the bike inside and left it in a space between the concrete mixer and the dismantled caterpillar vehicle. Something seemed to have gone missing since the last time I was in there, but for the moment I couldn’t think what it was. I was still peering round the place when Mr Parker joined me in the doorway.
“Should be enough room for the other boats,” he said.
“Do you keep them all in here during the winter then?” I asked.
“Yes, they need to be under cover really.”
“Yeah, spose.”
“Perhaps you’d like to help me get them moved up here?”
“Sure,” I replied. “It’s the least I can do after all your help.”
“Well, shall we start right away?”
“Yeah, that’s fine by me.”
As we returned to the truck I noticed for the first time that the rain had stopped, and that the sky looked far less foreboding than it had earlier. By the time we’d driven down to the lake it even seemed possible that the sun might come out. The six boats were lying where we’d left them. Mr Parker reversed his trailer into position and we hauled two of them on board, using the new winch attachment. When we got back to the shed they had to be transferred onto the wooden blocks. I thought this was going to be a bit of a heave, but he simply jacked the trailer up and shoved the boats roughly off the back. I winced as they slid onto the concrete, but their construction was so solid that they weren’t even marked. Then it was just a matter of lifting them a little and shuffling the blocks underneath. He seemed to have the whole process worked out beforehand, and this made it very simple. All the same, I was beginning to feel a bit worn out after we’d completed three such journeys, and I think I must have grunted under the strain as we shifted the final boat.