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About thirty years ago I bought a BSA thunderbolt motorcycle. When I bought it, it was in a collection of cardboard boxes, full of bits. The previous owner and I then proceeded to attach the bits to each other until we ended up with a fully reconditioned motorbike. Nothing unusual about that, it happens every day. The bike was lovely to ride and after running it in I set off on a road trip around the North Island in the middle of winter. Nothing unusual about that either, it happens every day. In Rotorua the kick-start, return spring broke. I knew I should have replaced it when restoration was in hand but didn’t.
I had a new one built then continued on my way up to Whangarei. This part of the journey turned into the trip from hell as the bike started to misfire and nothing I could do, would fix it. Still nothing unusual here, it was an old English motorbike.
By the time I reached Whangarei I was at the end of my tether, I had replaced, adjusted, tuned, cussed, sworn, replaced, adjusted, tuned everything I could think of and still the barstard thing wouldn’t run properly. Frustration and rage seeped from every pore in my body, passing motorists pulled wide on the road to avoid the crazed biker swearing at his bike, still nothing unusual here my wife might say.
And then my life changed, I pushed my bike around a corner and into the workshop of a man fixing his rally car, I explained to him what had been going on for the last couple of days, how it had nearly driven me nuts and asked him if he could he help me.
Within minutes the distributor cover plate was off, problem spotted, two-cent washer installed under retaining nut, no charge. Big smiles and handshakes and I was on my way, I didn’t have a problem with the bike from that day on.
It wasn’t till a couple of years later, when I was watching a bit of motor sport on telly that I recognised this knight in dirty overalls, Possum Bourne was his name, and I have followed the career of this man ever since.
It does not matter if you follow motor sport or not, he was a true professional driver; through his efforts in life, he has now become a “Kiwi” icon in the same mould as Sir Peter and Sir Ed, a true hero and a bloody nice guy.
The world changed again today and Possum Bourne has passed on and it is an absolute tragedy. To his wife and family I would like to pass on my deepest sympathy, to everyone whose life he touched, your own life has been infinitely enriched, cherish it.
I met this man for no more than twenty minutes; thirty odd years ago and I’ve considered him a mate ever since, but that was the quality of the man.
The ability to change other people’s lives by your very presence is the mark of a true and absolute champion and the world is a very poorer place for his passing.
My one regret is that I never got to repay the favour.
But that’s just an “old truckers point of view”
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