The king farted and died. No, this isn’t an Elvis/Las Vegas thing, just an easy 500k chug to Uralla to spend a couple of days riding with the old mates. Having just come back from a week in Tassie two up on “The Appliance” GS, I figured some Harley-style soul would be nice. Not much point owning a shed full of bikes if you don’t mix and match a bit, eh?

Or is that just justification for not being able to get my bike life sorted? To being stuck in the past, lugging around the ghosts of a lifetime’s motorcycling instead of moving with the times? Now I wasn’t bloody moving at all.

Okay, scenario for those who love mechanical mysteries: This ‘95 model Road King, lightened, painted and sorted with an S&S carburettor and points ignition, is the two-wheeled incarnation of a 1950s Cadillac. It rumbles along with all the authority of 350kg travelling mere inches off the road and a lumpy engine feeding twin exhaust pipes fatter than most cars. With air suspension from an Electra Glide back and front it’s the best bike in the world at making legal speeds fun.

Err, read between the lines. There could be a licence issue post Tassie. Thanks, Victoria…

Coasting down a hill near Tenterfield, the speedo flit from go to whoa. Nothing else, just that. Weird. A loose wire maybe? Then half an hour later the needle dropped, the dash lights died and the engine stopped. Deader than Elvis.

I rocked it from side to side, tapped the speedo housing, flicked the ignition on and off a few times and, bingo, she started first push of the button. The starter wound strong too, not like something a weak earth or dying battery would deliver.

Back to thundering along. In Glen Innes we stopped for fuel but she fired up beautifully and it seemed whatever it was had fixed itself quicker than a foot-long bacon and jelly roll. Then, 10km out of Armidale, she died.

It had to be electrics, right? I ripped off the instrument nacelle looking for an ignition switch issue. There’s three wires to the switch, so I linked them and – nothing.

If this had happened in the workshop I’d have cracked open the manual and a beer and sat down to ponder. But it was mid-afternoon, it was stinking hot and anything except getting the bike to the pub wasn’t acceptable. From a lifetime of experience with old shitters, I know that miracles can happen. You just have to persist.

An hour of tracing wires and fiddling connections later and – hello – there was a 30-amp circuit breaker near the battery that handles power from the regulator to the ignition that had switched out. That explained the cutting out then coming back again thing. The wire to the regulator had a dead short – found with the time-honoured fat spark up the screwdriver – and 40 years of riding Evolutions says it’s probably the stator shorting out. That’s not a roadside fix.

I disconnected the charging system, pulled the plugs on the headlight and taillight and hotwired the ignition. Thanks to that carby and points I knew it’d run at least until the battery faded. CDI and fool injection need decent volts. Points keep firing until the battery dies. This battery’s bigger than most cars, so here goes.

Meanwhile, Kog had pulled up on his new Harley. Okay, maybe it’s four years old and has done 70,000k but that’s new to someone like me whose “modern” bike is an 18-year-old BMW. Kog’s got a shed full of old Triumphs and rode nothing else for 35 years, but after a host of ute trips home he had a revelation: “We’re too old to fix ‘em, John. Too few years left to do anything but ride.”

Kog preached the new bike message like a true convert should. My ears were blocked by a shed full of memories.

We got to Uralla but instead of riding the Walcha road with the lads next day, I borrowed Gibbo’s starter pack and rode home. A few stops to add more volts and this Harley was back in the shed before sundown.

Unlike Elvis, this King will roll again – but I’m starting to question my own motivation. What’s more important: the challenge of keeping an old bike alive, or the joy of endless riding days?

Hmm, where’s Matho when you need him?