The motorcycle is now running.
If I may indulge in a bit of whimsy...
The sky was gloomy outside. Inside the workroom, the doctor was at his work-bench.
"Igor, the 10-mm socket." The doctor gestured at the tool-drawer.
"Yes, Dr. Frankenstein." The hunch-backed assistant shuffled over to the drawer. He spent a minute searching for the item; then shuffled back with the requested tool.
"Hold this wire." Igor carefully held the wire in place. The doctor placed the bolt into position, and began tightening it with the socket.
"Good, Igor. Now hold this other wire." They repeated the task with the second wire.
"Now fetch the ether spray." Igor obediently did, as the doctor stepped back with a strange gleam in his eye. A moment later, the doctor was setting the key and adjusting a choke setting.
Igor handed the doctor the requested spray-can. The doctor chuckled ominously as he sprayed the ether into the air-intake box.
Then the doctor switched the key, and touched the red button.
The machine cranked and sputtered.
The doctor grabbed the throttle, moved it to max, and touched the red button again.
The machine cranked, sputtered, and then roared to life with raucous noise.
"It lives, Igor."
The doctor cautiously adjusted the throttle and choke a few times. The raucous noise settled into a smooth rumble. The doctor's eyes gleamed with pleasure; his voice rose. "It lives, Igor. It lives!"
Outside, the wind blew in a strangely ominous way. The neighbors wondered at the strange portents from the doctor's shop.
It felt kind of like that.
Well, without a hunch-backed assistant. (And I'm not a doctor...and the neighbors don't think I have a touch of madness about me.)
But I spent many hours with the motorcycle, awakening it out of a winter of slumber.