've been all over town...my shovel is my daily driver, rain, million degree heat, I ride as much as possible. I also change it up as much as the market will bear, but I seem to keep reverting a certain point.
I'd taken one "long" trip to Bloomington, Indiana. It was a back roads 2.5 hours there, road most of the day in the oppressive heat, then 3 hours back. The rockers were going apeshit, clutch was a little off, battery tray broke, but it was a success..we got back home under our own power!
Now, I needed to go to NC to empty out a 24 x 40 garage I'd left back there in a divorce. The only logical thing to do was to ride a 36 year old bike the 8 hours down there, through the Appalachians, rent a truck, load the garage and bike in the back, and drive back the 8 hours in leisure. Three days, right?
Day one, I loaded up, excited to be taking my first slumber party ride on the Shovel I fingerbanged every day:
Docile enough. For this ride, I changed my upsweeps for typical drags, to clear the bags. Changed my rear fender so I could have an LED taillight mounted on the sissy bar (wife's idea for safety), and I changed out my bars from the ones I'd ass-welded just to get the look and feel of 14" apes - WAIT, did I remember to change those out?
My tires were good (front was less than a month old) and my only recurring problem was my pushrods made noise at intermittent times, depending on the temperature. Fair enough, I just got some SWEET rocker boxes that are in great shape, and the rockers are shimmed to within .009" or less, so I'll deal with that when I return.
Smooth sailing! My ears were totally in tune with everything...even my rockers were being quiet at this point. Poor old thing probably just wanted to be ridden, get out and breath a little.
Pic at the very end of Hwy 150, getting ready to mount I75:
There wasn't anything worth taking pics of until I got to Strawberry Plains Parkway in Knoxville:
After a couple of Maker's and Cokes and this wonderful piece of salmon, I got out and kicked her over....WOW, I'm not much of a drinker, but two beverages made my steering SLUGGISH!!
Actually, I figured the oppressive heat, had killed the air in my tire. Not thinking very clearly after two drinks. Maybe it was the salmon.
70mph on a flat front tire:
I made it to Newport, and remembered that I'd wanted to bring my drag bars...so, while pushing my bike to the air pump, this happened:
Fuck YES, I love an adventure!!
After a couple of walks to a Lowe's in temperatures rivaling Satan's toenails, an impromptu possible deal for some 1" bars with a dude riding a Honda Rebel (fell through), I was still at a dead end with the bars; I decided to try some Green Slime on the front tire and hauled a black iron pipe back to the room, but I needed some time to think:
The next morning, my Green Slime application had held, and I shifted the bars over so that the saddle of the riser clamped down on the break...iffy at best, but I wasn't going far. I figured there had to be a place down 25-70, for some reason...so I asked an old fart getting on a Yamaha ratty sort of thing, he told me to head down until I see "Bobarosa" on the right, they could help me out...I asked if they were there on Sunday morning, he said yeah...they're always there.
Yep; first guy who saw me asked how he could help me, then ran off to get Jessi. Jessie's GOT to be related to Daisy Duke down the line somewhere:
She had that place hoppin', took time away from setting up or whatever when I told her my bars were broken, opened her leather shop and gave me some off the wall! Fricken display bars. Super thanks to her, Tony, Krem (sp) and, of course, Bob. Also to Jack and Christine for Jeep-riding me into town for a couple of bolts.
So, after two Buds (and if this isn't a sign to NEVER drink, I don't know what is..) I had my bars on and was going down the road
A little down 25-70...I knew this was my route:
Just until I get my shit together, thought I'd include those who helped from the Bobarosa. I'd missed an apparently incredible Toga party the night before, but I saw a couple of pics. I also lent someone my tube repair kit because they'd blown their air mattress out. Fuck yes.
Tony:
Jack and Christine
Krem
Bob
So, down the road I tore, hoping to make up a little time (on a two lane back highway through the Appalachians...right). My wife texted me to ask where I was, so I took this pic:
When I took off, I looked down and noticed my tire getting low...then, an explosion of Green Slime overtook me...it was everywhere. I stopped at some small store that said "Motorcycle Friendly" on a hand painted sign, but all they had was fix a flat. He told me the best bet was to go back to Bobarosa, Hot Springs wouldn't have anything for me; so, back I went, 17 miles back (by Google maps), on a shredded front tube, and it was hotter than seven hells...and decided fuckit, stay at the Crazy Biker Toga campground, relax, get a ride or a front tube Sunday morning and change it there. Not a problem:
Drank another beer or two, then "redneck" jacked my bike up:
It stayed like that until it got dark, then I brought my stuff in. Still hadn't located a tube, couldn't communicate well at all with my wife...getting a little bleaker. I've ALWAYS been self sufficient on the road, no matter what I was riding or driving...it's very difficult for me to think, "Oh, call triple A" or "Shit, our insurance has a towing service"...
Which is where that communication with my wife came in handy...
I slept like shit, not because the room was uncomfortable, but there a few other factors:
1) My wife only had snippets of where I was. Took me a while to find the sweet spot for phone reception.
2)No idea of how to fix the wheel
3)I had a fuck of a lot of road scum and chemicals on me and wasn't sure of where the cleaning facilities were, didn't have a towel, soap, blah..etc. I guess it was time to change into my jeans.
4) POURED down rain and all I could think of is I felt guilty because I wasn't outside with my bike. What gave me the right?
My evening home:
In the middle of the night (and at other random times), a message came through from my wife suggesting I call for a tow using the number on the back of the card.
What? Are you fucking SERIOUS? What kind of complicated shit is she speaking?!
So, the next morning, LONG before anyone was moving, I called and got a tow to a HD boutique, who then stuck a front tire and tube on (not BALANCED worth a shit, but it was full of air) and sent me on my way.
Basically, other than it monsooning for the remainder of the 260+ miles down the mountain, there wasn't much to speak of. Some good ass Mexican tacos de asada, preferred parking at the Salisbury Quality Inn (and a 5 star rating by the Horse Backstreet Choppers Magazine, I might add):
The next day was the highlight of my trip...I FINALLY got to take a pic of my Shovelhead in front of my dads old Harley shop:
It took me 23 years to take that picture...
I wont lie to you, I had a tear in my eye as I left that town (hopefully) for the last time...I had lived in the house I'd wanted since I was a 9 year old, lived through thirty years of my life with that town as my home base, raised my kids, and watched the town live and die...and I was done with it.
Look at my headlight in that picture...my stator fried out around 5 miles later. Hauled her up into the moving van and called the trip over....
Kicked ass, every fucking second of it. Thanks for reading..
Only one word for ya Assman . . . EPIC !!!!
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