Troubling month.

It's been a troubling month here in Lake Wobegon. Thus would Garrison Keillor start the story on his radio show. "The Prairie Home Companion". I'm not sure if Mr. Keillor ever rode a motorcycle. Either way, the name of his fictional town surely describes how I feel. As the sun sets on May, I'm hoping for better things in June. Speaking of sunsets, I took this photo at the coast over Mother's Day weekend. The Nikon captured an interesting second sun in the water.

I don't know if I have somehow angered the Motorcycling Gods. Perhaps I've disturbed the Great Cosmic Karma. After a lifetime of owning and riding Hondas, perhaps my switch to Yamaha has created unsettling eddies in the flow of The Force. Sellling Sophie after so many miles together has to have shaken up the natural order of things. It could even be that I have offended the Gods by naming my FJR after the Mistress of Darkness, Elvira. Whatever the reason, things are totally out of synch at the moment. Even as I write this, there is a huge thunderstorm overhead. Big lightning flashes are accompanied by peals of thunder only a couple of seconds behind. As the title of this post says, May was a troubling month.

Go back early in the month. You may recall my writing of a particular trip back to the Mothership in Kirkland. I wrote of a little "incident". I've decided to share it with you. I find it sort of personally shameful. I will swallow my pride in order that you all may benefit from a timely reminder.

I'm on the way home from Kirkland. It's around 7 PM. Elvira and I are 17 hours into what will turn out to be a 20 hour day. On very little sleep the night before, we set out at 3 AM. The plan was to ride to Kirkland, attend an all day meeting, then ride back home right afterwards. For 17 hours the plan has come off without a hitch. Suddenly, I find myself in the middle of a slow motion nightmare.

We're back in Woodland. 14 hours earlier I'd met Annie, the pixie pouring coffee at Starbucks. My destination this time was a Subway sandwich shop on the other side of the freeway. The plan was to buy a sandwich, ride back to Starbucks, and enjoy the sandwich with coffee. That would refresh me for the balance of the ride home, another couple of hours. I needed the break. So far I'd been riding into a stiff headwind full of cold rain. I could warm up and relax some tired muscles. A side benefit would be that commuter traffic in Portland would have more of a chance to clear off the freeway. The coffee and sandwich were good. Then things went horribly wrong.

All the convenient parking spots sloped uphill towards the coffee shop. I backed into the spot on the far right. I struggled some, but managed to push the bike backwards up hill. I left Elvira in gear and she stayed put. There were two empty spaces to my right. Besides sloping uphill towards the building. the whole landscape sloped down towards our right. Backing in allowed me to have the sidestand deployed on the high side of the slope. The wind was still gusting enthusiastically. The pavement has some standing water on it. I'm still not sure of the exact sequence, but it was something like this.

I mounted Elvira and straightened her up. With the sidestand up, I started the bike. Both feet down on the ground. Hands on the clutch and front brake. I let out the clutch. As per habit, the wheels have barely begun to turn when my feet go onto the pegs. The bike doesn't smoothly take off. Instead, the front wheel jerks to the right. I would see later that the front tire had caught on a small rippled rut in the blacktop. At the same time, the jarring causes my clutch hand to slip off the lever. My soaked glove let go its grip. So, of course, the bike stalls. I have no power with which to save things. I quickly try to get my fingers back around the lever so I can fire the bike up once more. At the same time, I put my feet back down to try to catch the bike. My right boot slips on the wet pavement that slopes away from the bike. Extreme fatigue has me thinking a little slowly. I should have immediately squared up the handlebars. The delay in doing so starts us down the road to disaster.

By now Elvira's weight is over center to the right. The fall has begun and I am powerless to stop it. Oh, I try, all right! With everything I have I'm trying to stop the tip over. I finally gain purchase with the right boot but it's way too late. The best I can do is to slow the descent. All the way down I'm still straddling the bike. At the last minute I'm forced into a pratfall of my own over the right side and land on my hands and knees. I get up to see Elvira on the pavement on her side.

Dang. I am less than enchanted.

Maybe it was good that there were empty parking spots next to us. At least nobody's car got scratched or dented. On the other hand, the bike might not have gone all the way over. A few people were still in the coffee shop. Next door is a busy Safeway lot. Well, as busy as a small place like Woodland gets. Nobody came out to help. I know how to pick up a big bike by myself. This is the first time I've ever had to do it with a bike of my own, however.

The damage to the bike isn't bad. The mirror folded under and got some scratches, as you can see. The right saddlebag has some scratches, as well. The fairing and one pipe have a couple of small gouges. We made it the rest of the way home without further injury. Except for me kicking myself. No matter how you look at it, or how I describe it, the tip-over was my own fault. Fatigue, a second's inattention, bad weather, and a weird parking spot combined to defeat my resources at that instant.

When I told Katie about it, here was her comment:

"Maybe it was a reminder that you're not superhuman. Not even if you think you are."

She said it kindly while giving me a consoling hug. I had been pushing hard for a long time up to that point. Long hours between two jobs, a lot of riding for those two jobs, sprinkled with a topping of short sleep. The incident makes us think hard about our personal limits. I like to think mine are pretty high. Yet, I found the breaking point that evening. At least it was only a parking lot tip-over. It could have been much worse. Something to think about. That's why I'm sharing, even though I come out looking foolish here.

You'd think that would be enough by itself. Tipping one's bike over should be plenty for one month. There was more to come.

Katie and I went for a ride on Saturday over Memorial Day weekend. Sunday saw me going for the grill. We were finally enjoying some warmer weather. Time to cook some steaks. While I was bringing the grill out, I glanced over at Elvira. There was a puddle of oil underneath her.

Of course, my first thought was to go over my list of so-called friends. With friends like mine, who just happen to also be fellow instructors, one never knows. It could be a joke. Either that, or I'd suddenly found myself owning American Iron or a British bike!

No, it was no joke. There was a small drip of oil falling every eight to ten seconds. I grabbed a pan and started looking. It appeared that the oil pan gasket was leaking.

Dang. I was less than enchanted.

Not being willing to ride the bike to the dealer, I decided to rent a trailer. The closest dealer is about 35 miles away. It would be my bad luck for the pressure from the oil pump to make the leak speed up. I'd run the engine dry about halfway there. No thanks.

Of course, my current truck isn't wired for trailer lights. My big red truck died a long time ago. I now have a 1997 S-10 Chevy truck. My mother gave it to me when my father passed away. I haven't had a need to pull a trailer with it. Until now, that is. Lights finally wired, and trailer attached, I loaded Elvira.

This is a view of one of my bikes I really don't ever want to see. In all these years, it has only happened twice before now. Once was mechanical related, and the other was required due to the logistics of hauling our training bikes to the Southern Oregon Coast.

I believe I spent more time looking in the rear view mirror at the bike than I did looking forwards while driving. We arrived at the dealer in one piece.

Earlier I had ordered a replacement mirror. The Service Manager called me with two pieces of news. Firstly, the mirror they ordered came in for the left side, and not the right side. They would try it again. And, by the way, the oil leak? The oil pan is cracked. It will need to be replaced. They would order the pan and let me know when it arrived. I hope it's a warranty item. I guess that makes the pain of having the wrong mirror less. Who needs a mirror when the bike can't be ridden?

So there you have the story of May. It's not a pleasant one. Around this sad tale has been weaved some other stories. I'll share those as well as the progress with Elvira. I have a police training class coming up on Monday. I think I have another ST1100 lined up to use. I also taught our first ART ( Advanced Rider Training ) class of the year in May. So life wasn't all bad! Stay tuned!

Miles and smiles,

Dan