Riding the New Bike Home, Day 2

Wrenching Is a Great Way to Start The Day

Day 2 began at 7:30am. Liz made a wonderful breakfast (forgot to get a picture, doh!) and then it was time to get down to business. I had three goals: change the oil on the SV, get my heated gear working, and rig up a fix for my broken Rok Strap. Liz kindly drove me to town so I could buy some oil and a new filter, while she went off to find a length of nylon webbing because she had an idea for fixing the Rok Strap.

But first, here’s my new steed in the light of day:

Looks a lot like the old one, eh?

I changed the oil and filter, then turned my attention to the heated gear. I needed a battery harness for my Gerbing’s temperature controller, but I had a plan based off an epiphany that occured to me the previous day: I had the power cable from my old bike’s Gerbing’s setup, so if I cut it and used the female DC plug end, I could hack together a rudimentary fused battery harness using the previous owner’s distribution block stuff. w00t!

So that’s what I did. I cut the male DC plug end off that sucker and soldered the female plug to a fuse holder and two ring terminals. Wasn’t pretty, but it worked when I hooked everything together. Have soldering iron, will travel comfortably!

While I was busy with this, Liz did an awesome job sewing a new nylon strap to the remaining part of the Rok Strap to make a whole. It wasn’t as adjustable as a real Rok Strap but it was more than good enough to get me home.

Wrenching finished, I loaded up the bike and the three of us set off on Hwy 1 north to Leggett. Miles and miles of twisties, and very little traffic. Can’t ask for much more than that!

At the last viewpoint on Hwy 1 before the road turned inland:

I said farewell to Liz and Tony at the junction of 1 and 101. I can’t thank Liz enough for her hospitality (and sewing skills!) and Tony for use of his tools and garage space.

101 north was kind of a slog. The last time I’d been this way was when I was a kid, and I didn’t know that most of 101 is a 4 lane freeway. Still, I made good time heading north, trying to get to Brookings before the sun went down. It was going to be close as I didn’t leave Fort Bragg until 12:30.

I filled up the tank in Fortuna, CA and grabbed a quick bite to eat from the most unenthusiastic Subway employee I’ve ever encountered. And then I discovered that I’d had another near-miss with disaster.

Miracle #4: Rok Strap Failure, Part 2

This one is 100% my fault. I’d strapped my dry-bag across the pillion seat and secured it with my straps. Unfortunately, the dry-bag was now way too big for the amount of stuff that was in it — remember, I needed the space in the beginning because I was carrying my motorcycle gear and my tankbag in it for my flight. But now, as I was wearing my gear and had the tankbag mounted to the bike, there wasn’t enough stuff in there for it to hold its shape. At some point, even though I tried my best to tighten it as much as possible, the makeshift Rok Strap slid right off the end of the dry-bag… and was now hanging down near the wheel. SIGH!

Y’all have to take my word for it when I say that I’ve never had this kind of trouble securing my luggage before!

I decided to start from scratch. I stripped everything off the tail of the bike. Then, I re-packed everything in the dry-bag so the contents were pushed far to one side. I rolled up the end with the extra space and used the just-in-case spare strap to cinch the bag into the most compact ball possible. If you look closely, you’ll be able to see the difference in the previous couple of pictures and the pictures coming up.

There’s Something About King James

While I was busy packing my stuff, I noticed an older woman making the rounds of the parking lot with clipboard in hand. It’s hard to be invisible when you’re in full motorcycling gear, so I knew a visit was practically inevitable. Sure enough, a few minutes later she walks up to me and asks me something like, “Do you have a copy of my [thing]?”

“No,” I say.

She seems delighted to hear this, and reaches down to her clipboard and hands me this amazing piece of work:

I haven’t seen a cheatsheet this good since discrete math!

Then she launches headlong into a speech about finding Jesus, getting into heaven, etc, etc. I nod and make non-committal noises at the appropriate times while tightening the straps on my bag and trying to get the heck out of dodge because that sun is sinking awfully fast…

“Do you have a bible?” she asks.

“Not right now,” I mutter.

“You need a King James Bible,” she states firmly. “No other bible. The King James is the only one.”

I nod.

“There’s a Borders down the street. They sell them there.”

I nod.

She goes on about the King James Bible and its virtues, chief among which is the power to deal with the voices one hears in their heads.

I’m beginning to think that I’m not going to get out of here unless I produce 1) a King James Bible or 2) a receipt for a King James Bible. So I interrupt her and say my thanks, but I really must be going now… Getting back on the road felt especially sweet.

Sunset at Little River State Beach:

This is my “Do you know where your King James Bible Is??” look:

I was racing the sun and the sun was winning. I wasn’t willing to ride alone on an unfamiliar road in the dark, so Brookings was out of the picture. But Crescent City looked possible. I flew up 101 in the dusk, trying to ignore all the elk crossing signs. Rounded a corner, and… “Is that a statue?” No… it’s just the biggest bull elk I’ve ever seen grazing in someone’s front yard. No picture, alas, but I’ll remember that bazillion-point rack for a long time.

Full dark. Passed Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. Damn, wanted a picture of that, too. Rode up and into the twisty part, fog collecting in the low spots behind me. Couldn’t use the high beam — too much oncoming traffic. Pulled over once to let a car by, taking the corners just a little over posted speeds. Not my best riding performance, but this trip is showing me that I’ve lost a lot of mojo after my wreck. The last thing I want to do is put another bike on the ground.

I finally rolled into Crescent City around 6:30 or so. I found a decent room at a Travelodge in town. The desk person was a very nice southeast Asian lady who took one look at my motorcycle gear and said to me, “You’re riding a motorcycle? You’re so strong!”

After botching almost every corner for the last 30 miles, I didn’t feel very strong. But I smiled and thanked her. After all, she just gave me directions to a Thai restaurant within walking distance and hot food sounded great right about then.

After a short walk to the restaurant — only got catcalled twice by young men in passing cars — I got to enjoy this:

Red curry and a Thai iced tea!

The hotel room had something I rarely see in “budget” hotels these days… a living plant!

Good night!

Tagged as: Motorcycling