In recent months I have experienced countless trouble with my Dakar. (F650GS Dakar 2005). After a rather bitter brawl with the local BMW dealer over paid for non-repairs that included a pair of brass circlips inserted on the throttle cable, I had put hands to chest and started working on finding its’ ailments.
Several small maintenance issues and frustratingly replacing of lost nuts bolts and incorrect parts after it was returned from BMW made the job tedious. Finding what you really need in Nelspruit was 80% of the problem.
The other 20% is dealing with chauvinistic dudes that would argue with you over the colour of your car, that you bought and driven for 8 years. It is plain Black…thank you. And I’m not colour blind.
Ever since the problem with the bike I have had to speak and deal with men in the industry that would talk to me like I am some ‘dom poppie’. Calling me ‘dear’, skattie or meisie is not going to endear me to you. It just pisses me off. Seeing that I can call you by your name, I would appreciate it if you make use of the one I introduced myself to you.
If I say I repaired the bike myself I meant that. I got my hands black, oily, grimey and stinky, ruined my nails and did the job myself. Yes it did take me a few days. But I have a day job. That is why I paid the BMW agent to ‘find the problem and repair the bike’ as requested. Only, getting it back in worse state is a slap in the face and a gross under estimation of my intelligence. First as a person and as a woman.
Just because I paid more than R8000-00 for your supposed knowledge does not mean I am blindly accepting it as is. I will check on the job done.
I do not consider myself the pretty face and stand on the side of the road helplessly waiting for the assistance of a man. Fortunately my parents raised a self sufficient, independent woman and with the help of two older brothers I was told: “your car. You drive it, your fix it.”
This involved countless incidents with second-hand cars leaving me stuck on the side of the road. Only to look for the problem and repair it myself, to get home or to work.
In 50 years I can count the times that a helpful, knowledgeable male stopped to assist me on one hand. I give some credit as some stopped because they were concerned for my safety.
YES, I can think for myself.
I go by the name of Nicolene
Yes I know the starter from the alternator
Or the spark plug from the fuel injector
And yes I can change the flat – on my car and my bike.
I am a Woman.
Thanks to my Dad and brothers. Most of all,
Thanks to my MOTHER