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Embarking on an Ill Advised Trip
Tuesday, March 8, 2005 Day Nine This morning we awoke before dawn, determined to make our longest mileage day so far. The morning was damp with dew and quite cold. Undaunted, we got packed up to hit the road. Ron calls me outside to see something. "Look at the moon," he said.
Once we finished packing up the bikes, we found that the dew on our seats had frozen, and we had to scrape ice off of the leather before getting on. So much for the center of the World's goat roping championships, and we got underway. Our first gas stop is in Junction, TX, where we have a lovely breakfast. The waitress asked me if I wanted potatoes or grits. I said, "Well, Hell, I'm in Texas. I have to have grits." We are hauling ass across Texas, determined to spend the night in another state. Finally, we start to see a little different scenery, and even a few trees and rolling hills.
Somewhere in East Texas, my bike makes a couple of loud pops and the engine goes completely dead. I coast to a stop and it only takes a few seconds of looking at the bike to see what is wrong.
The screws holding the ignition module in place have fatigued and broken off, losing the timing cover. I didn't like the timing cover, as it had a cross on it. The guy who sold me the bike said that if I didn't like the cover and replaced it, that he would like for me to send it to him. I'm afraid that it is unlikely anyone will ever see it again. Ron was riding point, and by the time that he noticed I was no longer behind him, he was quite a ways up the road. He returned perhaps a half hour later, and helps me to push the bike off the Interstate and over to the adjacent service road. We are going over my bike with a fine-toothed comb looking for a screw that I can borrow to hold the ignition module in. The only candidate is one of the three starter solennoid cover screws. The thread is wrong, but it goes in a couple turns before the threads bind. If I have to, I will force it in to get underway. One of the broken screws has enough of a stub sticking out for me to remove it. The other is broken off just below the surface, and I cannot get it to come out using a variety of sharp, pointed tools to try and make it rotate. About then, a young guy in a pickup truck stops and offers to help. I give him the screw stub that I have removed and he goes back to the auto repair shop where he works. George comes back about 20 minutes later proudly offering two screws cut to just the right length.
He directs us to his uncle's repair shop where he promises his uncle will lend us the tools to drill and extract the other screw. The bike fires up and runs fine with just the one screw holding the module in. We never did find George's uncle, but a couple exits down the road, we found an auto parts store and a hardware store in Sealy, TX, about 35 miles west of Houston. One of the guys working in the auto parts store was admiring my bike. Ron said, "What's wrong with my bike?" The reply, "It's not a Harley," cracked me up. Ron said, "I'm not the one who broke down!" Of course, I had to remind him that he was riding a new bike, and mine is twelve years old. I bought a drill bit, a #1 screw extractor, and a $25 cordless drill. What the Hell, a man can never have too many cordless drills. We hit the highway without making further repair, figuring that the one screw will hold till the next morning. We end our day's run in Lake Charles, Louisiana, jubilant to have finished the long crossing of barren Texas. In spite being delayed a couple of hours due to my breakdown, we still managed to cover 563 miles. Go to NEXT DAY'S STORY |
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