Triage

The bike needs tending to before winter arrives, which is only days away. I call a friend. He tinkers, has tools, and knows motorcycles. "This should not take long," he says, pressing the ignition button. The head lamp flickers and then nothing happens. Dead battery. A flash crosses my mind. There's a neighbor down the street who can help us. I walk down the alley and knock on his front door. He's home, has a jump, and knows motorcycles. The bike requires more than a jump. The battery needs water, the tires need air, the motor needs to keep running while they add something to the fuel tank that goes to the carburetor and other places. I hear something about larger jets and oxygenated gasoline. My friend unwraps the tool kit he brought along. My neighbor asks me to hold a lantern so they can see to work. I am the assistant to the surgeon's assistant. Our emergency pack contains multiple bandages from several expert sources. We make our way back home with my friend standing astride the bike (the seat is still off) to hold the charge. He finishes, placing the bike in a corner of the garage on its center stand. I offer and he accepts a nip of brandy in return for good work.