To say I’m fabricating something also makes it sound like I have a well equipped workshop, anchored with machines like lathes, belt sanders, band saws, benches and welders, cutting torches and maybe even a CNC machine, a castoff from the recent downturn in the motorsports business. But no, the reality is my workshop is a crowded two car garage that my wife is determined to turn into her version of Public Storage, forcing me to drag out discarded furniture, old dishware, and other household items with the simple directive, “take this out to the garage."
So when it’s time to work on my bikes—motorcycle or bicycles—I first reach for my car keys so I can park it on the street, thus giving me the elbow room I'll need for my peculiar brand of mechanical magic. My workbench is a set of stairs on the right, that lead to an upper floor that’s unusable as a motorcycle work shop. These steps actually work okay as a fill-in for a proper work bench, except for when I reach for a nut or bolt and inadvertently shove it off the step into the dark abyss beneath. Come spring, I’ll get under there and sweep those bits and pieces up. I should have quite a collection by then.
So, my tank finally arrived from Air Tech, four months late, and... you’ve got to be kidding. To make it fit, I’m going to have to “fabricate” new front tank mounts, some kind of rear mounting system and then figure out how to mount the seat. And the tank is so long that I’m going to have to lose about 30 pounds just to squeeze in. Who knew that fabrication would extend to my eating and exercise habits.
