What a Long, Strange Trip it's Been
© Evlin Rivera 2000
"I tipped it over. Man, I can't believe I tipped it over." I was backing into the parking spot in front of my motel room when my right foot slipped in the mix of rain and oil drippings always found where cars hang out. Embarrassing. I hope no one saw me laying on the ground, my right leg pinned between the asphalt and the fairing. I moved swiftly with the instant rush only adrenaline provides and hit the kill switch. Fearing spilled battery acid I move quickly. My foot is caught but a strong jerk, and I'm free. Before the adrenaline wears off I strain to lift her up on two wheels. I've done this before, but from the other side. No handle to grab and being right handed, I find it awkward to lift from the right side, but slowly she rises. Halfway up I hear, "Are You All right?". A good Samaritan calls down to me from the second floor balcony. Trying to hold on to the little dignity I have left I ignore him. Again he calls out but louder this time. He sees I'm still wearing my helmet and assumes I didn't hear him. This time I acknowledge him though I act as if I can't hear clearly. I mean I don't want him to know I was ignoring him. By now I had my SweetMarie up on two wheels so I said thanks but no thanks. I really didn't want to hear again how dangerous motorcycles are or about Uncle Bob and his big accident. Then I realize I can't reach the sidestand. Slowly and deliberately I balance her against my stomach and bend over the seat to flip down the sidestand with my hand. I can't believe how much I'm sweating. I survey the damage. My right hand mirror is scratched up but thankfully it folded and the glass didn't break. My Saeng Nightcutter's housing got busted but the lens, reflector, and bulb survived unscathed. Switch on and it lights right up. Black tape will provide a temporary fix until I can order replacement parts. That's when I notice it laying on the ground. My foot peg. Great, just great. What next?
The trip was a last minute decision I had planned for two months. Daytona Bike Week had been a goal of mine for years. Until I bought the Concours I really never considered riding down. The Sport bikes I preferred weren't comfortable for the long haul. I thought of trailering but that meant buying a hitch and trailer that I really didn't have any need for. Besides I'd always made fun of trailer queens and the thought of towing a touring bike was, to me, really absurd. In January, when it came time to submit my vacation picks for the year, I picked that week in March that's been taunting me. It was a shot in the dark kind of thing. I could always cancel the vacation days. I had my Gerbing Electric Vest hanging in my closet and a new pair of winter weight gloves I'd purchased at the Toronto Cycle Show, just in case. I received an Email from my boss informing me that he'd scheduled me for a training seminar in Altamonte Springs, Florida that same week. A quick map check showed me that that was just outside of Orlando, which is a short hop from Daytona Beach. Time and place were perfect. I have family in the area so I had a bed to sleep in. Then came the big thaw in late February. The mercury hit 70 degrees and that really got my juices flowing again. I disconnected the Battery Tender and ripped off the bike cover. My SweetMarie must have been happy to see me. She started right up and settled into a rough but steady idle and warmed up quickly. That old gas/Stabil mixture must have been hard to swallow. I gave her the once over and found only low tire pressure. Easily fixed. I spent the rest of the day in the saddle and racked up 200 miles. I decided then that this was the year.
Friday, March 3, 7:00am. The Weather Channel told me the temperature was 27 degrees. Well, I was going south and the temperature should be in the 50s by the time I reached the West Virginia border. I'm off. I was enjoying the looks I was getting from the Cagers as I passed them. SweetMarie was in rare form. Maybe the cold air was providing a power boost. She just felt zippier than usual. It could just be me. After all, it had been 4 months since I last threw a leg over her so maybe it was just my pure joy of being on two wheels again. The ride down is Interstate all the way with making time the goal. The scenery was great as you cross the Alleghenies and approach West Virginia. I kept waiting for the temperature to rise dramatically. No such luck. I ended up putting on my rain gear as an additional wind barrier. Even with the cold I was feeling pretty good. I was sore. After all, I'd put on a few pounds over the winter and the closest I'd come to exercise was the walk from the couch to the fridge. But I wasn't tired. Beautiful sunset in the Mountains. Darkness means deer. On come the Nightcutters and high beam. I try to do the math to see how much juice I'm sucking from the alternator but math isn't one of my strengths so I go on. What was that I felt on my cheek? Sleet? Rain? Oh, its a mix of both. Wonderful. At least I don't have to stop and change into my rain gear. Thirty miles down the road and I'm out of it. Must be going down the southern slope into Virginia. Hey, its getting warmer. Cool. I decide to call it a day in Charlotte, N. Carolina.
My friends at the Weather Channel warned me of severe thunderstorms covering the Carolinas and north Georgia. I decided to sit Saturday out in Charlotte and maybe sightsee. I posted a message on the COG Listserver and invited anyone interested to meet me for breakfast. Ken Moore of Charlotte wrote back and we made plans for the next day. He took me to a local eatery with plenty of atmosphere. Sassy waitress included. We placed our order and waited. And waited. They must have gone to the farm for the eggs. While we sat Ken and I got to know eachother and talked bikes. Nice guy this Ken. Finally the waitress returns with our orders. Mine was cold and Ken's was undercooked. Lets eat and get out of here. I want to ride. We pay and suit up, only to find pouring rain. Another time. Maybe Daytona. Ken leads me to the motel and we go our separate ways. I waste the day in front of the Boob Tube and get antsy. Finally I go out to eat dinner and gas up. Now, back to the motel to load up. That's what led up to the broken footpeg.
Now I'm crawling on all fours looking for any and all pieces of the footpeg. Actually it was the mounting bracket the broke. Did I say broke? Shattered was more like it. Why after 14 years is Kawasaki still using that junk metal? After a while I realized it was beyond my ability to fix it. I faced an eight hour ride with my left leg on the front peg and my right leg hanging on the rear peg. Can you picture a giant wishbone? It was late and I hesitated to call, but I got a good vibe from Ken that morning so I pulled his number from the Membership Directory and dialed. Ken told me to sit tight and wait for his call in the morning. He called and said he would try to contact Bryan Moody and see if he knew of a local member with a spare. By the time I had showered and packed, Bryan called. He had good news. He contacted Greg Yepez and he had a spare he was willing to lend me. Bryan had to meet Greg to fetch the bracket. We setup a rendezvous as he had to ride away from my location to pickup the part. No problema. I met Bryan at a Hardee's and after a bite and some chit chat we went to work. Minor problems arose as far as fit goes. Seems we couldn't get the bracket completely snug to the frame. The bolts seemed too long or maybe a couple of missing washers, but that was not the time to reinvent the wheel. Close enough was good enough. We said our good-byes and off we went.
Trying to make up for lost time I turned up the wick and settled on a 80 mph cruising speed. I wasn't passing as many vehicles as you'd think. I-95 is more speedway than highway. Mainly I was passing Winnebagos and minivans and a lot of them were pulling bikes on trailers. Surprisingly, they wouldn't wave or even nod. I thought we were beyond all that by now. Also, there was a lack of bikes being ridden down. I was so looking forward to joining up with someone on the road for company during meal stops. Oh well. Just before crossing the South Carolina/Georgia border I decide to gas up and grab a quick bite. Hardeeville, SC would be a very hard town to leave. I started the Connie up and let her warm up while I finished suiting up. "Where's all that steam coming from?" What the !@#$ is that green puddle under the bike? Shutdown! I checked the radiator to see if it was blocked and the overflow tank to see if it was, you know, overflowing. The fan came on so that wasn't it. Next I pulled out the flashlight and started poking around. What I saw wasn't good. This thingamabob above the carburetors was gushing fluid. It seemed that a screw had dropped out of what looked like a clamp where the whatchamacallit joined a small manifold that was mounted on the cylinder head. I decided that the problem part was the thermostat housing. I was attracting a crowd by now. One of them was a brother biker of the Harley persuasion in a pickup truck with tools. He didn't need to be asked, he just started working. The plastic comes off along with the tank so we can get a better look. Now, after all this bad karma you'd think I couldn't catch a break. Could that missing screw still be laying on the engine somewhere? Well, what do you know, there it was laying between the starter and the cylinder block. Together we retrieved the screw and tried to finesse it back into the clamp. Fingers wouldn't cut it. We scrounged up a socket wrench and extension that finally did the trick. Man, a light at the end of the tunnel. I start her up and its Niagara Falls all over again. That light I thought I saw was a freight train headed right at me. My friend wishes he could stay but by now he's running behind schedule himself. I thank him for his efforts and offer to pay him a little something but he refuses. "Just stop and help someone on the road someday" he says. Nice guy. He more than made up for the lack of waves while on the road.
It's Sunday night so no chance for a tow tonight. From what I can see Hardeeville consists of two gas stations and a Ramada Inn. I reassemble the Connie, pour some water into the radiator, and head over to the Inn for some rest. The convenience store didn't have a Savannah Yellow Pages so once again I turned to the Group directory. Savannah, Georgia is home to COG member Tom Adams. He was kind enough to provide me with the name of a dealer he thought would be open on Monday and gave me moral support. Next morning I called for a tow and got T.L. Brown towing. TL (he likes you to call him TL). came out himself. He would have sent his son but he was in jail for nonsupport. As TL says, "If you gonna play you gotta pay." Anyway, $200 dollars later we were in front of Beasley Kawasaki of Savannah. They were sympathetic and assured me I'd be given priority so I could salvage something of Bike Week. Meanwhile I made my way to Altamonte Springs via alternate transportation. Budget Rent-a-car took my Visa and in return lent me a car. Not exactly what I had planned but I ran out of time. I had to be in Florida by Tuesday morning for the company training seminar. At least I got to see some bikes when I drove through Daytona Beach. Sigh! During the rest of the week I called for updates but always the same story. The part was on order. To be fair, it was bike week and even in Savannah there is a rush of motorcycle maintenance activity. Finally, Thursday the call came. Ready for pickup. Guess how I'm spending my Friday. I drive up, but I ride down. One eye on the road and the other on the temperature gauge. After an hour I start to relax. At first there was an odor of antifreeze but it was just residue leftover from the breakdown. I pick up the pace and settle back to the 80 mph cruise I was traveling at the previous Sunday. The COG breakfast was the next day and I was determined to be there. Did I have a story to tell.
I was up early with the intention of washing my SweetMarie and making her shine but couldn't find a self wash joint. Bugs and all we were headed to Quincy's. On I-4 west I pass a couple of Harleys. A Sportster and a Buell. The woman on the Sporty was laid back but doing a respectable 75 mph. Ahead of her was a guy on the Buell that looked like he was doing all he could to keep it upright all the while that V-twin was shaking like mad. I suspect one of his motor mounts gave up on him. Buells have been known to do that. I felt like the Roadrunner to their Wile E. Coyote. Beep Beep.
I get off at Port Orange and who pulls up along side but Bryan Moody, my footpeg wrenching buddy, and his wife. We make our way to Quincy's. It was hard to miss. There must have been 25 Concours (what's the plural of Concours? Concourii?) with more pulling in every minute. What a sight. I love checking out the bikes and the modifications their owners have made. The people were nice too. I'm sure to forget some names so I won't mention them but I met a great couple from Canada that drove down this year but are a high mileage team most of the time. The Horkster was there and it was a pleasure to put a face to the emails I so enjoy reading. I was glad to see Ken Moore, my breakfast companion from Charlotte, made it down. Thanks again for starting the ball rolling after my tip-over.
After vittles we gather to hear the instructions for our morning ride. I had other plans but couldn't resist riding with this bunch. We found a few curves on our way to a bike auction in Deland. I never made it inside other than to buy something to drink. The show outside was probably just as good. Triumphs, Ducatis, Honda CBXs, Yamaha 2 strokes, an Ariel Square Four, an FJ1200 side car rig from Canada, etc. You get the picture. Prior commitments called so I hopped back on my SweetMarie and headed out.
That evening I turned west down I-4 to Tampa to visit my cousin Joanne and her family. Somewhere along the way I hit a pot hole. I cursed as usual and kept going. When I arrived I noticed my front fender was covered with oil. Blew a fork seal. Jeez! On the return to Orlando I stopped for a visit to the little bikers room at a friendly McDonald's that claims to be the country's largest. Whatever. Anyway, when I went to insert the key into the ignition switch guess what stupid thing I did. Yep, I dropped it into the Black Hole between the steering head and the gas tank that I so recently read and laughed about on the Listserver. Won't happen to me. At that point I lost it big time. Why me? Am I so evil that the Big Guy is trying to teach me a lesson. I had a spare key hidden so I was back on the road quickly but enough already. My cousin Diane tried to convince me that by putting these obstacles in my way God was maybe sparing me from something worse. This year saw a record 8 motorcycle involved deaths during Bike Week. Maybe she's right but couldn't the good lord find a cheaper way to get the message across?
My Bike Week in Daytona is not over as I write this. Due to the storm front that settled over the Northeast I decided to surrender to fate and park my Connie at my uncle Enrique's house and fly home to Buffalo, NY. I figured maybe HE was trying to convey a message and snow was his way to say it best. I'll be returning to Florida again in a week so I'll try it again then. I hope you enjoyed my story and forgive you if you laughed a bit. Just remember, there's a lesson here somewhere. If you find it, let me know cause I can't figure it out. I'll tell you this much, it'll take more than this to stop me from touring as God intended us to. On a motorcycle and not on a trailer. I have to go know before I get struck by lightning. See you at the Northeast Spring Fling or the Virginia leg of the National.
Elvin Rivera
COG # 2536
Williamsville, NY
95 Concours
(SweetMarie)