While I hadn't really wanted to test AAA's Plus RV coverage for my
motorcycle, I felt this was a time to find out how useful it would be. Digging out my cell
phone, I punched in the numbers and waited for an answer.
Have you ever tried making a phone call while standing in the median with
traffic whizzing by at 65+ mph just a few feet away? My hearing's not the best anymore
anyway, and this situation didn't lend any assistance. Finally, I just explained precisely
where I was, the nature of my problem, gave my membership number, and told the person on the
other end that I hoped they could understand enough to get a truck out to get me. Whether I
ever got an affirmative answer or not, I'll never know. Russ and I stood there on the backside
of the guardrail for 45 minutes without seeing any sign of a tow truck or wrecker.
We were almost convinced we'd be there until traffic thinned out sometime later
that night, when a pickup with a two-bike trailer whipped in right ahead of me. Thinking that
AAA had really been on the ball, I was surprised when the driver told us that he'd seen us
standing here as he drove northbound on the opposite side, going to pick up a bike and take it
back to Lynnwood Yamaha, where he worked. As a thoughtful gesture to fellow motorcyclists, he'd
stayed in the left-hand lane as he approached our location to see if we were still stranded there.
I'm sure the gratitude we felt for his concern was evident on our faces as we loaded my Concours
alongside the Yamaha he'd picked up earlier. As we were driving back to his shop, the driver
introduced himself as Andy Hardin, the service manager at Lynnwood Yamaha.
Unloading the Concours in the yard behind the shop, Andy pointed to a tent set up
next to the building and told me I was welcome to work on my bike there, out of the rain that
was becoming imminent. Before starting on the bike, we contacted Ron, who said he would be
headed up that way as soon as he could get moving.
At this point it's appropriate to mention that Russ and I had discussed the
possibility of one of our bikes breaking down on the Tour, and we'd agreed that the partner
with the operating bike could continue on, as there was no need to sacrifice both rides because
of one bike's problems. But Russ was having none of that. He stayed there with me, even though
Ron had also shown up to offer whatever assistance he could. And it was comforting to have all
that help, even though there was only room for one person to work. That comfort didn't come
without its price, however. Russ spent some time photographing me in as many embarrassing positions
as possible, chuckling all the while. To add insult to injury, he used MY camera for the pictures.
I'd get even later. Heh-heh.
It didn't take long to find the problem - a bolt holding a cooling line into a
casting had backed out, allowing the coolant to spray directly out of the water pump onto the
ground. Both the bolt and the O-ring on the coolant line were gone. Andy found two metric
bolts, one of which was exactly right. Trying a Yamaha O-ring didn't work as well, though, but
calling a nearby Kawasaki dealer resulted in finding 3 of the proper O-rings in stock. Ron and
Russ hurried down the street to pick 2 of those up for me (luckily, as the first was destroyed
in installing it). Finally, after being stopped for nearly six hours, the Concours was back
together and ready to travel once more. This time, with Loctite insuring the bolt would stay
around for the remainder of the trip.
Once we were sure the Connie was again roadworthy, Russ and I ascertained that
our bikes were loaded properly and ready to go, offered our heartfelt thanks to Andy, and
made haste to get back on I-5. Before heading south, however, we had to go back north to
pick up the tour where it had come to a halt earlier in the day. There was no way I would
allow anyone to say that the Concours hadn't covered every inch of the Four Corners under its
own power. Now, almost an hour after we'd left Lynwood Yamaha, we were once again moving in
the right direction.
As luck would have it, our timing was such that we got to the heart of Seattle
just at the beginning of "rush hour". Having worked right through lunch, we were both ready
to stop for a bite to eat, and soon found a spot not too far off the interstate. Not a dining
establishment we would have chosen under other circumstances, but for the moment it sufficed.
Knowing that traffic would be heavy for another hour or two, we took our time and regrouped,
so to speak.
An hour and a half later, with traffic in the downtown Seattle area lessened
considerably, we headed south once more, into the rain that we could see falling from thick,
leaden clouds down Tacoma way. Fortunately, traffic moved well, and we were nearing Olympia as
darkness approached. Russ was in front, setting a good pace. Earlier, he'd told me the Battleax
tires he'd had installed on his Nighthawk inspired confidence, and he was moving just a bit faster
than the traffic. It was while we were leaving Olympia and traffic had thinned just a bit, that I
took over the lead and discovered something that aided us for the next five thousand miles.
During my winter maintenance and preparation, I'd added a Kisan headlight modulator.
If someone in a cage seemed to want to park in the number one lane, without making an effort to
pass the vehicle next to him, I would hit the high beam, which would activate the modulator.
Apparently the driver woke up, thinking that this might be a LEO in his rearview. Whatever,
it proved to be very helpful and later, whenever Russ was in the lead and a stubborn driver refused
to yield, I'd pull up behind the driver and flip on the modulator. It probably worked in 7 or 8
out of 10 tries. But once full dark arrived, the modulator no longer modulated, so we were on
our own.
At one point, heading south from Olympia toward Portland, attempting to goad a
young male driver into being our rabbit for a few miles, it became obvious that he was expecting
US to be HIS rabbits. No thanks, it doesn't work that way. We lost him in a bit of heavier
traffic and went back to finding our own rabbits.
At a rest area south of Portland, Russ and I stopped to compare notes and
decided that stopping for the night and getting a good night's rest might be the wisest course.
Neither of us had had a really good rest the night before, and after catching up, we could make
better time tomorrow. Just as we were getting ready to remount, a young rider on a ZX6R pulled
in next to us. Riding in the steady rain, just as we had been, the rider looked half drowned.
But he seemed cheerful and ready to continue. During a brief chat, he revealed that he was headed
for Southern California, wanting to arrive there the next night. Under questioning, we found that
he was getting a bit cold, as he wasn't really properly dressed for an all night ride in the rain.
His feet were especially suffering, he mentioned. Russ dug into his side bag and brought out a pair
of polypropylene socks and handed them to the young man, telling him to wear them to help keep his
feet warm. A moment that made me proud to be riding with Russ.
Friday, April 12, 2002 Salem, Oregon
Damp, and a little weary, Russ and I found a motel at one of the exits off I-5
in Salem. It would be nice to get a good night's sleep and then ride steadily the next day to
make it to Death Valley in time to meet up with the group down there.
The next morning, feeling well rested, Russ and I hunted up a restaurant to
start the day off with a good breakfast. We both knew meal stops were going to be an unaffordable
luxury today, once we were back on the road. While I'd been hurrying to get from Dawson Creek to
Seattle without being terribly late, Russ had been acting as coordinator for the parts that were
coming from all over the U. S. Unbeknownst to me until I arrived in Seattle, these parts were
headed to Bend, Oregon, to be held there by Carl Metler, one of the great guys (and also the
Executive Director) of the Concours Owners Group. Now Russ and I were headed for Bend to meet
Carl and to install the needed parts onto the Concours.
Once we found Carl and his charming wife Rhonda in Bend, we quickly removed the
damaged parts from my Concours and installed the replacements that had been waiting there for
our arrival. After an all-too-brief visit, we were back on the road with the intention of making
it to Death Valley before morning.
There are several things that can cause poor gas mileage on a motorcycle. One of
those things is a strong head wind. Another is a highway that's straight, has good visibility
for a long distance ahead and behind, and that has little traffic and no towns. Funny how quick
you can go through a tank of gas under those conditions. Such a road is Oregon Hwy. 31 heading
southeast off of US-97 from the vicinity of LaPine. Having topped off our tanks before leaving
Salem that morning, we waited until we were heading off into the more unpopulated south-central
desert before refueling at LaPine. With just over 10 gallons of useable fuel aboard there was a
chance I'd make it to Reno before having to stop again. Imagine my surprise and dismay when I
discovered my fuel gauge bouncing off the "E" only 275 miles after filling up.
We stopped in Standish, California to allay my fears and grab some minor sustenance,
while I calculated my mileage at a pitiful 30.6 mpg for this leg, and Russ smirked as he dribbled
a little gasoline into his fuel-sipping Nighthawk. This wouldn't be the last time Russ cackled
gleefully when observing the disparity in our fuel consumption rates. But my time would come
before this ride was over. He who laughs last, and all that.
Once on US-395 again, we would sometimes ride side-by-side on this
sparsely-traveled highway to give ourselves the advantage of two headlights and four driving
lights revealing a path through the darkness as we hurried toward Death Valley.
Reno, Nevada isn't a really large city, especially when traversed from north
to south, and we were intent on making it seem as small as possible this night, with many miles
ahead of us. It was around 11:30 PM when we saw the lights along the southern edge of Reno, and
dark desert highway ahead of us. It was also starting to cool down noticeably.
With neither Russ nor I sure of the gas station schedules for the next 350 or
so miles, we stopped for fuel in Carson City near midnight, again noticing the drop in temperature
as night progressed here in this dry, high altitude air.
Saturday, April 13, 2002 US-395 south of Carson City, Nevada
This night I found that once again my expectations exceeded what nature
had prepared for me. Both Russ and I had been feeling the cool of the night, and as we dropped
down along the shoreline of Mono Lake, coming into Lee Vining, California, I noticed my tell-tale
thermometer dropping to 26°F. This isn't supposed to be happening, for crying out loud! Here
we are in California, the land of sunshine and seashores, far from the frigid north, and we find
below freezing temperatures. How far south would I have to go to insure staying warm?
As the highway gained altitude once more south of town, I found Russ' headlight
dwindling in my rear view. Turning around to see what might be wrong, I found him putting on
nearly every bit of warm clothing he had along. My snowmobiling suit had been left rolled up
in a plastic bag at Ron's or I would have been doing the same thing. As I have pointed out before,
the Goretex of which the Roadcrafter is made only slows the wind, it won't stop it. So I donned
the Widder vest, arm chaps, and gloves, feeling like a real wimp now that I was here in "sunny"
California, and stayed pretty warm for the rest of the night. One more gas stop at Bishop, and
then on to Lone Pine, where we turned east onto CA-190 into Death Valley.