Navigating the freezing drizzly roads this morning on my way to work, I was troubled by the oil light that had been on for a few days. I know my bike, and I know that there's enough oil for a couple of days of light riding even after the oil light comes on. But it had been a couple of days, and I was also running low on gas... though I was running a bit late, I pulled into a Cosmos station to gas and oil up. I usually put the 2-stroke in myself - it's about a third of the cost of having the station attendant put it in for you - but I hadn't had time to go to the motor store and the danger zone was approaching.
I pulled in to the station and was shunted into place next to a pump by an older man. I asked him to fill it up with regular and also to put in some oil, which he proceeded to do extremely slowly and methodically. I didn't mind though - he was a kindly old grandpa type. After getting all taken care of, I started up the bike and put all my gear back in place - gloves, helmet, scarf - and got set to take off again into the miserable weather. But... "wait!" he said. He grabbed a rag and began to swab off the windscreen of my helmet, which was covered in droplets and fairly foggy to boot. He polished it well, then gave me a stern once over. "It's inside too!", and he stuck the rag under the shield, next to my face, and wiped that down too. "Okay," he said, "you can go."
Good old grandpa-man. Made my day.
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