Dilbert: Our parting

Despondent

Dilbert was cleaned and polished and checked out for the ride over to Portsmouth Harbour train station to hand over to his buyer, John.

I confess, I love Dilbert's curves; my favourites around his bump stoppers where their shape is made to appear as if it has oozed from the fairing above them. Each side is as well gravity-formed as a gentlewoman's breast though somewhat easier to caress. I took in the last sweet savours of his company and shook off the paradox of just having cupped the breasts on a bike that's quite obviously meant to have been a bloke in my mind. Dawn of realisation then; why most bikes are referred to in the feminine context.



John was desperate to collect the wide panniers and the spare screen, too, so I had to work out how to do this. In the end I found a removals box that could sit in Dilbert's top-box and then wrapped his thin pannier lids in cardboard to sandwich safely the screen. Then black bags and brown tape weather-proofed and wind-resisted reasy for the ride. It looked "pikey" and rather sad to see the Regal Dilbert looking as forlorn as a WW2 London Blitz refugee.

He rode well. His 650cc gives a gorgeous "thud-thuddder-thud" through his air box on changing down gears and I revelled in his ease of ride. He seemed so light after having to man-handle Shadowfax about the countryside the day before. I stopped off for £5 of fuel at Tescos off the A27 and then joined the M-way into Portsmouth; threading along the ever-quietening road toward the Historic Dockyard as mainstream traffic headed for the cultural centre of Gunwharf Quays.

With a sense of finality only experienced on loosing my dogs in the past I span Dilbert into the bus station entrance where John was easily recognisable waiting on the wall. I pulled over and dismounted Dilbert for the very last time.



John's quite recently returned to biking, too, and we quickly exchanged some wisdoms of where the oil-filler was and how to switch to reserve tank, etc. He was amused as I took the last photograph of Dilbert and seemed understanding that there needed something of closure in the blog. We laughed over the problem of the blog's name, "dilbert-deauville.blogspot" just wouldn't cut it when the story had so obviously drawn a close on Dilbert's chapter and Shadowfax had become the lead. We chatted. Anything to delay the finality of the moment, which came all too early as John donned his helmet and jacket and sat astride Dilbert as his new owner.

"Ride safe", I said to Dilbert, as much as to John. I turned away as his revs built toward pulling off and my last sight of Dilbert was his disappearing behind a bus who's occupancy of little old ladies bathed in lavender water stopped me from gaining any other vantage point from where I might have seen Dilbert exit stage-right around the corner in front of the Dockyard public entrance.

The World closed in and I re-fielded my ruck-sack, secured my helmet in it's cover, and made for the station to catch the mid-afternoon train to Bath to rejoin my family on holiday.