FRANK WESTWORTH RealClossic
The text message from Ace Mosickles revealed that the Norton was still running and that it had acquired a shiny new MoT certificate. Great news indeed. Not least because, depending on who you ask, it may or may not require an MoT to gain a registration document. I called Ace and shared my o'erflowing excitement at imminent intercontinental travels aboard my fabbo Norton.
‘Kenny's just gone out on it,’ Austen revealed.
This caused a moment of head scratching, not least because the original reason for taking the bike to Ace had been for Kenny – a Noted Expert if there ever could be – to fix the brakes. And in fact, the last time I'd been there, nervously clutching a camera and trying to help somehow, the brakes had been the subject of amusement (Kenny's) and despair (mine). There was also the question of… aha! Trade plates.
Time to waddle down from the RC office, collect gear and drag the Triumph from its repose. The phone rang again. ‘Kenny's just called. I'll need to go and collect him in the van…’ Hmmm.
When I rolled up, the Commando was back on the bench. I contemplated buying a trailer and a tow hitch for the car. Breaking down mysteriously and for no obvious reason can get expensive, and the patience of the AA is not infinite. Oddly enough, the last trailer I possessed got so little use after we moved to Bude that its axles rotted away while it was parked
