Day 7 A fine Philly

It made much more sense for me to request that Roland overnighted me the gear that he had found, but where’s the fun and adventure in that? I rose with the larks, or oversized robins that pass for larks around here and bade farewell to the my landscaping friend Francisco, not before he could cadge a roll up.

Nikki, a young mum with a down to earth plan to raise her kids then buy an RV and see the country, drove me in to announce my plans to Joe and the diner boys. Joe, Ben “lock her up”, Bob who is over 90 and John were there. John has a great story of how he was keeping a 1968 Triumph to eventually build when he retired and his son approached him saying that a friend wanted to buy it so he let it go. Some time later, probably years, his son invited him around and showed him the restored bike and told him it was for him. Car SOS watch out! That stuff always gets me welled up.

Preston took me to the station and gave me loads of recommendations for Philadelphia including avoiding the “tourist” steak restaurants, Pat’s and Geno’s, I rode the Amtrak for the first time, remarkable value at $20 each way on an 80 minute ride. Plush seats, 110 volt plugs, WIFI and more heating that you might desire.

30th Street Station is a cathedral to rail transit and although this is not a photo blog I unashamedly include this snap from there. Perhaps I should heed Peter’s advice and get an instagram account.

I wandered up to the Museum of art and shamelessly took a selfie then strode down 20 odd blocks to meet Roland at Spare Parts Co where he graciously proffered a chair so that I could relax outside while he tied up some loose ends on what I think was a Guzzi California. Roland’s shop is strewn with interesting motorcycles and he, perhaps a little like Joe, finds himself as one of the increasingly scarce watering holes for these exotic, near extinct, beasts. Good to his word he had the gear and its partner, which was a bonus. Unlike people, gears mate for life and the running in process knocks the rough edges of each tooth until they mesh in harmony, changing just one can lead to discord.

Roland kindly took a long lunch and we sauntered through old town Philly, which is like NYC just nicer and lower and with more sky. He pointed out where the Constitution was drafted, the last resting place of the Liberty Bell and the first resting place of Larry Fine from the Three Stooges. We ate outside a laid back Italian restaurant with fantastic food, what I don’t know about food cannot be written on anything smaller than a football pitch but I have now had ‘Ramp’, a spring vegetable and pretty good on pizza, the beer was good too.

Qualified in psychology and practiced in music, Roland was drawn to the dark mechanical arts and ‘apprenticed’ to Franz, the original owner. Now a very youthful fifty year old, he wonders where the next generation of tuners and tweakers will come from.

It struck me then that my mate Matthew is right to call me the “Fred Dibnah of Finchley”. Fred was old school and into steam engines, I used to think all that oily rag and polished brass was a little dull and futureless and impractical. I feel that big wheel has kept on turning and now I find myself with an enthusiasm for something that younger people see as shiny and interesting for the blink of an eye like a carnival float. They are right, of course, these things are artefacts kept alive by the dreams we had as children of the way we wished our lives would be.

I may be getting old but I’ll be damned if you catch me posting pictures of my breakfast again, that is the slippery slopes. Here’s some art instead.

I made it back to base, tube, Amtrak and Raymond, who spends a lot of time in Zambia, drove and regained me with tales of Africa and Unimogs. A big day tomorrow, checking out of the motel and need to get the bike back on track, or road and find somewhere to lay my hat, or helmet. Hopefully avoiding the H&B Travelodge.