I'm looking at a bright red bruise on the inside of my right kneecap.
It's just about at the level of the the chrome kickstart lever of my Royal Enfield motorcycle. There is a reason for that.
I pushed the motorcycle home this afternoon, a little over two miles, sitting on it and propelling it along by waddling ducklike.
I made pretty good time this way: Google maps said the walk alone would have taken 46 minutes, and here I duck-walked the 400-pound motorcycle the whole way in only an hour more.
The price paid was the bruise on my kneecap, as every so often my right leg would catch the kickstart lever where it curves out to miss the side of the motorcycle. I considered stopping and removing the lever to make my waddling less painful.
There was one good thing about the pain, however. It was forcing me to keep my feet well spread (the foot peg was the main hazard on the left side).
The great danger was that the motorcycle might tip past the point of control and fall. My wide stance prevented that.
Still, it wasn't easy, and I had to stop at a park along the way to get a drink of water from the drinking fountain. Thank goodness that fountain was there.
As usual, along the way, people would ask me how old my Royal Enfield is. I'd give my usual answer:
"Not as old as it looks. 1999. But I AM as old as I look!"
Hardly anyone seemed to take note that the motorcycle motor wasn't running, as I pushed myself along.
"You don't see many like that anymore," one man commented.
"Maybe because they don't run!" I responded.
But, oddly, I still felt complimented even though the Royal Enfield was not functioning. It's a problem with the carburetor, or the throttle cable, I believe.
I'll fix it tomorrow. I've had enough exercise for today.
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