CAPE-HOPE 3

Seeking a scenic route home (one with pubs? – Ed,) we fire up and roll. The morning is chilly, making me anxious about tyres. For the first few minutes I take it easy. We head toward Machado, the most expensive toll gate in the country. This brings us to the bit I tell you in confidence, meaning, if you tell anyone, I shall subscribe you to the most ill-reputed escort agency in the southern hemisphere.
 
On the outward leg I told you no amount of haste got me through the toll gates as quickly as my mates. I asked how they did it. They replied, do you even have to ask?! I’m way too innocent to believe what they tell me…
 
Eight bikes arrive at the toll gate. Someone else (definitely not me) takes his place in the queue, behind a car whose driver waits to pay the outrageous toll. This biker oke raises his visor one click. Like a James Bond movie, this is so any cameras catch reflection rather than facial features.
 
Ahead, a skinny arm extends from the toll booth. The car driver’s hand emerges from the driver’s window. They meet in the middle. The driver pays his toll. The LCD readout changes from HALT to PAID! THANK YOU, and the boom rises.
 
(Reminder: what happens next is about someone else, not me, Officer.)
 
The car pulls forward, tailed by the motorcycle. The boom must stay open for a moment to allow a trailer to pass. It is in that momentary gap that the biker strikes. As the boom brisquely descends, the biker blasts through with but a handspan to spare. He guns it and takes off. A siren wails. The LED readout changes to OFFENCE COMMITTED! The biker keeps his eyes peeled for cop cars. There are none. The biker races away. A kilometre or two further, the riders regroup.
 
All this happened to someone else, not me, Your Honour, but if it had been me, I wouldn’t feel remorse (unless I’d been caught.) What is the justification for charging us the same rate as a 10-seater minibus (carrying 20 passengers) and dragging a trailer? Years ago, a biker community body campaigned for a concession for motorcycles. The toll road operators gave us the middle finger. One good turn deserves another.
 
A last few kilometres of twists and curves before we settle into the runway-straight highway toll (chuckle) highway to WITBANK (ethnic names be damned.) A revictualling stop, goodbyes are exchanged and, as a group for the last time on this run, we set off for the towns of Springs and Benoni. One by one, riders peel off onto the highway offramps. Before long it is the Bandit’s turn to take the fork that will lead me to my lovely Portuguese wife and her lovely Portuguese cuisine.
 
Cost wise, I have wounds to lick. Prepping the Bandit cost a great deal more than I anticipated, thanks to the fork stripdown. Then there’s the DNA (same as K&N) filter, three times brake pads at luxury goods prices, labour… I’m going to need an extra glass or six of grape-derived anaesthetic with dinner. I’ll cheers my beautiful Portuguese wife, repeatedly.
 
But the story doesn’t end there.  
 
CONFESSION TIME
 
I’ve been unfaithful to you. At least, I nearly was. But fear not, I do this every few months; it never comes to anything. 
 
I see a mate advertising a DL1000, or V-Strom. Essentially the same marvelous V-Twin motor I once had a TL1000 S (wonderful motor; yeah, yeah, we all know about the handling...) That motor, thankfully in a better chassis, lives on in the V-Strom. Hmm. If I can catch some mug, charge him an outrageous price for my Bandit, then lie through my teeth to my soon-to-be-ex mate….
 
So I place the advert, and get a reply straight out of the Nigerian playbook. Some, er, gentleman e-mails a promise to pay loads of money into my account and send someone to collect the bike. No haggling, he trusts me implicitly. Just one thing, though; please send more photos. I contemplate the matter for about 3 nanoseconds and decide against.
 
I know this scam. They harvest photos, and post “urgent sale” ads at low prices. When you respond, they say ooh, you may be too late, it’s going up for auction tomorrow.  If you want to buy it before it goes on auction you must act quickly, pay a deposit, urgently, here’s the account number.
 
It continues. I get a mail, purportedly from a firm of attorneys, asking me to invoice them so they can arrange transportation. Now South Africa may be a banana republic, but not even in this joke of a country do attorneys use G-Mail addresses.  
 
I contact the attorney firm. They confirm somebody has spoofed their electronic signature, and they have reported it to Google (who will do precisely nothing abut it.)
 
By the time all this is over, I have cooled down about changing bikes. 

The Bandit stays.
 
Regards
Stan L
South Africa

of course it wasn't you How much would postage be from Aus to SA?, or might it get lost in the mail ?. Change them yourself, dead easy. I changed fork seals & dust caps& oil on the old Blue one ( 2 weeks before I sold it ) could only get genuine dust caps - $85.00 , nearly fainted.
Good story Stan, best to self & missus, Cheers M

GSX1100G wrote: of course it wasn't you How much would postage be from Aus to SA?, or might it get lost in the mail ?. Change them yourself, dead easy. I changed fork seals & dust caps& oil on the old Blue one ( 2 weeks before I sold it ) could only get genuine dust caps - $85.00 , nearly fainted.
Good story Stan, best to self & missus, Cheers M

Thankee kindly, I did call suppliers for seals, could get Suzuki or Ariete (Italy), but I'm an awful mechanic. BTW, SA post office is dysfunctional, like the rest of SA, so if I did take you up on it you'd have to use private couriers.

And the missus. She is soaking (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bacalhau) Portuguese codfish to grill. My mate, if you and your appetite ever come to SA... 

Thanks and best regards
Stan L