Screwed

I had grand plans for Saturday. Cleared the entire day to spend some quality time with Lizzy. I was going to do a full tune up - adjust the cam chain tension, adjust valve clearance, run a compression test, change the plug, check the timing, and fiddle with the idle (which still doesn't work - I was hoping the idle gnome in my garage would see to that). Right O. The only thing on that list that got done was changing the plug. The compression tester I borrowed didn't even have the right nipple on it, which as we all know is an bad omen.

I needed to get Lizzy to operating temperature to even start - so I thought a new plug would be a good idea after looking at the old one. Check out the carbon on that bad boy.

Sure enough, she turned right over. I took her to the parking lot down the street and had a blast going around and doing figure 8s and just playing. I *knew* I should have gone back home - but I didn't. No, I had to push things. So she died. I kicked and kicked to no avail. Got a bitchin' bruise on the right calf now.

There was no recourse save to make the "walk of shame" back home. I found it interesting that I got lots of stares from cars flying past and the only person to ask if I needed help was a bicyclist. Anywho - got back to my garage and was ready to start the adjustments, Lizzy wasn't still warm - but I sure as hell was after pushing her for what felt like forever.

One look at the alternator inspection cover made me flinch. The a-hole who last tightened those bolts made sure that there was no way in hell of me getting them off again. Talk about stripped heads. Good Lord. So officially I had no way to see the alignment markings on the rotor, meaning end of the road. No valve adjustments, no point inspection - no nothing.

I worked for 5 hours on those *$%#ing bolts. I strained so much that I actually made both of my boobs pop out of my bra - and I am only rocking the B cup - so that was some major effort on my part. I tried WD-40. The sharp rap then turn. Nothing. There are totally and completely stuck. I was super twitching to try the propane torch - but my book really warns against that. Alternative? I tried to get the entire left hand side of the crank-case off, hoping I could at least take it to the shop and drill out the offending bolts. Same problem there.

Finally, near tears, I resolved to get the Ox to help me. I was pissed. This is MY bike. And I do not want to rely on any man to do any of the "hard" stuff. Frustrated, I stuffed everything in the garage with haste. Totally and completely pissed. Then the garage door wouldn't close. It is wicked old and opens like an accordion. Not being "strong" enough to close a door was the... last...freaking...straw. I hauled off and kicked it.

Turns out I am strong enough to break a wooden door 3/4 of the way up its length. So hubby (Gabe, the Ox) comes home and I not only have to ask for him to help with the bike - I have to ask forgiveness for breaking the door in half like some kind of karate kid. Welcome home honey!

The only thing that made me feel *slightly* better (even if this makes no sense) is that the Ox couldn't get the bolts out either. Which leaves me exactly where I started - screwed.