Somewhere, over the West Hills
“Orin, we need you to move your scooter,” said Pablo. “Nobody else knows how.”
Not a problem. Checking on it is something I’ve been doing regularly since not being able to ride it, but moving it would at least involve hopping in the saddle and scuttling it around. And Pablo would be there to spot me.
Luckily, it takes much longer for atrophy to set in on a well-lubricated, well-sealed machine. The GTS has been sitting out in the rain for I don’t know how long, but it fired right up and everything worked the other day. Nothing was hanging up, the tires still had plenty of air, and I had no trouble backing it around to the entry path so the guys can install the new furnace. Pablo can step on the center stand lever, something I realize I’ll have to train myself to do with my right heel.
The GTS moved, I excuse myself. Pablo later tells me the revelation that part of my right foot has been amputated made the guys’ eyes get really wide.
Remember, it’s not being certain of getting it on its centerstand that keeps me out of the saddle. If there were a side stand, I’d be even further past the 12,000 mile service than I already am. I had no difficulty holding it upright with my legs (and feet).
On Friday, the sutures come out, which I get the impression means the foot is healed. I can start using it normally.
Normal. What a concept.