The Chickens have come home to roost!

Some of the more attentive followers of CCRI might have noticed a couple of weeks ago a slight air of superiority from Mr Gollobski. This was due to the fact that he had managed to purchase his chicken before Carpboy and Halflife. Were we bothered? You bet we were! We took some satisfaction from the fact that, in his rush to win a race that only he was competing in, he managed to purchase a bike that was 80% paper mashie and 20% old man spit. The bike was improved slightly when ridden last weekend by Carpboy and is now 5% dog poo as well.
We all rode the 'victory bike' and enjoyed the 'charity tin' rattles from the engine, wet fart noise from the exhaust and the interesting odour it was left with after Carpboys go.
Well today we can proudly say 'IN YOUR FACE GOLLOBSKI'.
Within a couple of days of each other, Carpboy and Halflife have tripled the bike count...yes tripled....err to three.
First let’s talk about Carpboys purchase. By far the most surprising fact about Carpboys Honda C90 is that is actual a Honda C90!! What gives? It’s fair to say that the lad has a history of commitment problems and on past performance we expected anything from a Vespa to a Fire Blade. But no, judging from the photos this is actually a Honda C90. Well done Carpboy.
The bike has done less than 10K miles and only a few carful owners from new (most of them spotty 17 year olds with a 10” deep pan Margareta on the back). The next surprising thing about Carpboys purchase is how he got it home. Having all the bike skill of Howard Sibshaw from last of the summer wine, Carp boy phoned and told us he was going to put his chicken in the back of his car. Now this would not be the first time that he had had farm animals in the back, but we think (we hope!) it was probably the first time he had drained one of all its fluids and dismantled it before stuffing it in the back oh errr! But the pictures prove it, she went in!!! Fortunately the guy who sold him the bike was a mechanic and so removing her front wheel and top box was a piece of chicken poo. However what goes up must come down, or something like that, and Carpboy, our designated latrine digger was not quite so handy with the spanners. After 15 hours intensive handywork and 3 plasters later he managed to get the top box back on but his pride was short lived when he realised (too late) that this was not the fuel tank.
Halflife’s purchase went almost as well. On a 96 plate this was a spring chicken with only 16K gentle miles on the clock. The rust gave her a degree of character that the bikes made of spit and covered in fuel could only dream of. The gaffer tape holding on the rear indicators and the cowling with optional missing screen got many admiring stares on the ride home (Unlike Carpboy, Halflife never had the luxury of a mechanic to help him stuff his pride and joy in the back of a car). He reported a top speed of 47 miles per hour and commented that ‘we must be mad’...

Yes you all are boys.