A man could cut to the chase, and spare you the details, but then why own a keyboard?
When I bought the Bassa, the previous owner said the speedometer had died, then been replaced a few thousand miles ago. A receipt in the files substantiated this.
I rode away from the P.O.s in the dark, in the desert, and after a few miles the odometer ceased recording new miles. Strike one.
Several months later, the tach became erratic, then ceased to have an opinon. Sympotoms pointed towards it having spit an internal weight.
Next, the trip meter decided it did not want to be reset. So I began keeping a fueling log on a folded 3 x 5 card in my wallet.
Today, circumstances came together. I was being squeezed in one pocket, while the pack ahead of mine sped up and went away, opening up a large gap twixt us and them. No concealment spots for the motor officers, in between bridges and on ramps. The perfect place for a brief spurt of speed.
I made a couple of gentlemanly moves, patiently twisted the grip and we rolled up the ton. Beautiful. Now, to ease it back down. Check the road, check the needle - 100 plus and dialing down. Check the road, check the...needle ? Where's the needle ? I knew I was still in the nineties.
No needle. Check the road, check the instrument. The needle lay against the zero. It's stayed there since, and the trip meter now only remembers the good old days.
