When I was a kid, we lived downstairs is a big ole house, which had a small apartment upstairs. A renter took his Triumph up the stairs in pieces and rebuilt it during the winter months. Late one winter evening, he finished it, but couldn't wait to fire it up for the first time, which he did. My parents thought the ceiling would come down, and they were not amused. (As a small side note, a few years back I wound up working for him and his family for a short time in their business. Totally whacko, disfunctional family, with money. He got into it with his wife and family last year, and burnt down his house, after calling the officials to see if it was legal. He's now in a psych ward.)
