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finger.
It felt wrong, just over one dollar for his time and materials, yet he wouldn’ t take more when I offered it to him. I handed the young boy the extra cash, he beamed a smile that would light up the darkest heart.
“ Buy your dad a beer,” I winked at the boy. He promptly put the money in his pocket.
A voice spoke and I was drawn back into the moment.
“ I’ ll go get my friend, he’ s a mechanic,” our new roadside helper insisted.“ But I am certain that they sold you a bad battery.”
Oh yes, the problems we were having with the other bike. Our friend was adamant that the electrical problems we had been having were to do with the flat battery, apparently it was the cause not the result. We both disagreed, knowing that the problem was a faulty stator, something of a known and reoccurring issue with the Himalayan’ s, yet felt we should indulge our friend as he rode off into the distant hills.
As dusk was turning our surrounds into a world of deepening shadows and strange noises our friend reappeared with his mechanic who seemed not to know what was happening, his solution was to give us his spare battery that would be enough to get us to Burtibang where we could seek a workshop to make the repairs. We said our goodbyes to ride on into the approaching darkness.
Burtibang is an interesting town
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