13 Hours

 I originally posted this up on the RTP blog. Here is a slightly edited version.

 13 Hours or, The road that led me half way to Born-Free 4

As some of you know I planned my trip down to the Wheeler Ranch this summer with a run to Born Free 4. Here is a tale of trial and tribulation, road side fixes and providential intervention.

Before I left home I picked up a set of new tires for Grettah and Vintage V-Twin slapped then on her Invaders for me. Good, I knew it would be hot in Cali with pavement temps reaching 140 degrees or higher. New rubber was a must do. My girl was pretty close to being ready as we loaded her into Raider van. Not much to tell of any consequence about the drive down to moms. Other than I had one day after I arrived to get the rest of my check list done prior to leaving for the best show ever.

At this point in my story it is worth noting that I have been fighting a nasty cold for a few days.... a cold in the summer... thank you ever changing weather in the Inland North West. Yet, I digress.

I went through the clutch pack and checked the basket for wobble. I had not made the time to change out to my new 2" BDL setup so, It was another roll of the dice so to speak. My tranny still leaks like a freshly stuck pig but, a new bottle of 80-90 weight would be plenty to get us there and back again. Bolt check, new "custom tank mount"(hose clamp), plugs, points and we are ready to roll.

Shake down was on the road. Adjust the clutch and replace the tail light bulb at Oats Country Store, adjust the Bendix to run at sea level on my way to I-80. I backtracked a bit by going through Sacramento but it beat riding through the Bay area. Of course I hit a traffic jam before Davis so being the kinda guy I am, I road the shoulder. Man, I saw the worst rental truck wreck of my life. It had veered off the highway and careened into a grove of trees. There was none of the cab left. A news crew was there with a satellite truck. I cannot see how anyone could have survived that.

I rolled through Sacto and Stockton knowing it was time to fuel up. Just out side the city I hit the first podunk station I could see. A group of Booze Fighters were just firing up there scoots to leave. I wanted to ask one of them if they were heading for born Free but did not get the chance. Oh well, gas and go baby we have a lot of miles to cover.

I still had no idea what kind of gas mileage I was getting so I stopped around every fifty miles or so. Another fact worth noting is the state of California has no mile markers on I-5. You have to calculate using the exit numbers that must be loosely based on miles. Grettah was running awesomely and we were keeping it around 65 MPH for the most part. The sun was hot, the cross winds were manageable and we were putting some miles behind us.

A few gas stops later we were moving along. Passing semi's and feeling pretty groovy. That's when the bottom dropped out. The loud blub, blub, blub sound of losing a tail pipe hit my ears with as much impact as the hot wind on my face. I turned off the power and pulled in the clutch and coasted to the side. Yet another thing to take note of. It is 3:30 in the afternoon, the hottest part of the day and it will stay this hot until the sun sets.

Getting off the bike my worst nightmare had come true. The stud on the front head had sheared off. I know that I carry a lot of tools and spare doodads and diddy-wops but, a cordless drill is not one of them. Not to mention an easy out and a new stud. I am basically screwed and was afraid that even a few miles in these temps would burn a valve. Hmm, what to do?

3:45 and I put the shout out to big brother Steve to come and rescue my sorry ass. If another option came along(one that would get me to the show)I would call and have him turn around.

First item of business is to make a sign. I found some Styrofoam and pulled out my trusty sharpy. I wrote "Broken" on it and hung the cry for help off the sissy bar. I was not passed by many riders but none but one stopped. Thanks Barnaby! I know you could not do much to help me get off the side of the road. You did however renew my belief that there are a few of us "good ones" left. About the same time Chuck, a PG+E employee, stopped and gave me some cold water. He and his son are building a chop based around an S+S 113". Another good one left on this earth.

Ok, I was hot and maybe just a tad bit depressed. The sun was starting to give me a burn and there was no shade. I called my brother again to ask him to bring some blocks of wood so we could level the van. The crown of the Interstate was severe and there was not a flat spot for miles in either direction. An hour had passed and Steve was just leaving the ranch.

After thinking about it, I flipped my make shift sign over and wrote "Born-Free" in the largest letters I could. Surely someone pulling a trailer with room for one more bike would stop and be my huckleberry..... I could still make it, I believe, I believe!

Two hours had now passed and I could feel the effects of the sun. My brain was swimming, the inside of my arms and my face were badly burned and still cookin'. Steve was at least another two hours out. If I did not get out of here soon I would fry. Time for another look at my wounded girl.

I removed the stud that was still hanging in the pipe and gave it a look over. Nothing could be done with it so into my pocket it went. Manipulating the pipe it occurred to me that if I could wedge something in there it might just hold long enough to get me back to civilization. Now the search was on. I walked north about a hundred yards and found nothing but chunks of semi tire and rotten wood. Always looking back at my scoot fearing that the next trucker might hate bikers. I walked south an equal distance still looking over my shoulder from time to time. She was so close to the right hand lane. I feared for my precocious Shovelhead. Then it happened.

You can call it a miracle or providence I really do not care either way but, there it was. The most beautiful bent up chunk of aluminum flat stock. It was like the heavens had opened.

Returning to my scoot and watching the path of every truck heading my way, I wedged my new found salvation between the pipe and the frame. Using a short piece of wire from my bags as a safety strap I thought that this just might work.

Now for decision time. I actually thought about continuing on. I was a hundred and fifty miles north of L.A. If this fix held I could make it..... I could make it, I could.... My head reeled. I needed food and electrolytes in worst way, my skin was as pink as a lobster's and I was coughing up green gunk again. Crap!

One prime kick and my Grettah came to life. The repair was holding as she warmed up. I road down to the next overpass and turned around. I saw an oasis with a McDonald's a few miles back. Quarter Pounder with Cheese here I come.

I called Steve after I ate and he indicated he was less than a hundred miles out. I could not turn him around now and besides, I felt terrible. Decision made. I will try again next year.  Now some may have called me a pussy. All I can say is they could go straight to hell.

Steve arrived an hour and a half later. His back is bad so some more help was needed to get the bike loaded into Raider van. As we waited for the right opportunity to ask for help a young couple with there four year old approached. This little guy had a passion for "Scooter-Cycles" as he put it. I could see it in his eyes. "Would you like to sit on the bike?" I asked. His eyes got even bigger as he nodded his head yes. Mom put him on Grettah's seat and dad took some pics. I felt good.

At the same time a couple of bikes rolled in for gas. I approached the riders and asked the first one for some help. His riding partner had no colors. I wondered if he may have been the son of this patch holder but I did not ask. You do not ask questions like that. He had a few for me though. "What are you loading into?" "My van" I answered, "You have a ramp?", "You have ratchet straps?". I answered in the affirmative. "Give me few" he said.

When they rode over to the van I told him the quick version of my story. Then I showed him my fix. It was said to me once by a very close friend, "When your a patch holder you rarely have a good day" When this giant of a man smiled and chuckled at what I had done to get back on the road, this too made me feel good.

It was a long trip back to the ranch. Eleven hours later I woke up burnt, beat but not broken. I had made the right decision.