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A new brushpile composed mostly of tree prunings now dominates the compost-mulch-chickenpoop ghetto between the cottonwood and the fruit trees. The chipper prefers dried sticks to green ones, and so we will decimate the pile later in the winter. In the meantime, I still have the urge to use power equipment. So after digging a culvert hole deeper and replacing the galvanized pipe, I performed our first act of tilling the soil in preparation for planting.
Roomie and I mapped out the general confines of the Rose Garden some months ago. In the past week, I have installed culverts to carry irrigation water forward to the roses. Beyond the roses will be largely drought-tolerant and xeriscape plants. Presently, the culverts reside in trenches in the ground that connect nothing to nothing else. Roomie will dig trenches around the roses and I (adhering to my rule that I only handle jobs too big for Roomie to do herself) will operate the Ditch Witch to deepen existing trenches and dig a few new ones to carry water forward.
I cleaved off the chipper from the tractor and installed the tiller. The only other time I had the tiller going was when I was checking to make sure it worked and nearly killed myself when the tines grabbed the earth rather than chew it up and the thing ran out of the irrigation ditch. And that it is why these tractors have a safety switch built into the handlebars. Since then, I read the instructions and raised the tines. Rule of thumb: first pass, tines high; second pass, tines lower.
Our Italian BCS tractor chewed up the clay soil and bermuda grass commendably. Nothing like a commercial-grade piece of equipment. The remarkable thing was the speed with which crappy soil was converted to easily-plantable soil: I think the entire process from shallow-run, switchover to deeper tines, and second pass took less than 30 minutes. On the deeper setting, the tiller still has a tendency to run off. But the soil is fairly pulverized and ready for amendment. Roomie will distribute some compost on top and I shall make an additional pass to till in the organic matter.
After I had come in from tilling, I got a phone call from PJ's, where the 851 is getting some work done. I told the service writer Mike that I had scored some Gold Series Brembo's for the bike and since they were still sourcing the braided stainless lines for the bike could I have them install them as well. Sounds great, said Mike. I quickly dismantle the brakes from their hoses, drain the fluid from them, insert a large screwdriver between the pads and twist to force the pistons back into the caliper to squeeze out the last of the fluid, and carefully wrap each caliper in newspaper before placing them in the small box which I would later place in the Timbuktu bag.
Riding the Morini is fun, and definitely less work than the Ducati. Partly, it is easier to ride because I have ridden it for approaching 20 years, and its quirks have become part of the way I ride. Also, the Morini with its narrower tires is more flickable than the 851. Response to the Morini at PJ's was one of general approval. I think as mostly new bike dealers they are less inclined to respond affectionately to older Italian iron. But Mike seemed to like the 500, and one of the other employees said "That's a nice one!" as I was on my way out.
At PJ's I learned conclusively that my bike had the older style valve with cannot take the new improved collets. Additionally, I learned that the shims (if necessary) are special-order things and may take a while. Finally, I received confirmation that the tires really are shot, cracked, and probably original. But as far as trips to the mechanic go, this was pretty painless. They let me into the shop where I saw the 851 on the stand half-apart, its bodywork hanging from padded holders overhead. It was kind of like seeing someone you know in the ICU. As I was just about to leave, Mike and the mechanic were talking about how hard it was to find documentation on my motorcycle. "You don't happen to have a factory service manual, do you?" asked Mike. "Sure do!" So I will be going back to PJ's sometime this week to drop it off.
When I got back from PJ's, I picked the skins the 851 will be wearing when she comes home: Michelin Pilot Powers. I think something about having them put on the new old brakes got me excited about the day when her service is all done. After all she will have:
When I got home, I decided that in honor of all the Italian machinery with which I had been dealing I would make polenta and sausage for dinner. Actually Roomie cooked the sausage. And in a sad reminder of the transitory nature of all things we hold dear, my beloved Beifa® Free Ink Roller (purchased in Italy and sent as a gift to me a number of Christmases ago), finally croaked. It was my Number One Pen; Number One Pen auditions are now open.
Posted by Underblog at January 1, 2006 9:11 AM
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finalmente, ho voluto riprendere il nome di quella penna da tempo...vedrò se c'e qualche disponibile alla cartoleria..sicuramente ms.morini si sentirà rinfrescata...bravo,e bravi pure per la lineamenta fatta alle rose futuristiche...
Posted by: heather at January 1, 2006 10:28 AM
I once owned an Olivetti typewriter--it was the most cantankerous machine ever made. Hope your tools aren't equally passionate.
Posted by: Suzanne at January 2, 2006 2:17 PM
I heard you had an opening for a #1 pen. I think you'll find I have a tremendous resume, although I am more disposible than the Beifa Free Ink.
Sincerely
Pilot G-2, 05mm
Posted by: gb at January 3, 2006 10:09 AM