My most recent memorable journey

[RonWhitm]

A bit long and, sorry, there are no pictures available due to several logistical errors.

MY MOST RECENT MEMORABLE JOURNEY


I have always dreamed of someday making a cross-country trip on a motorcycle. Lately, as I approach dangerously close to 60 years of age, that dream was all but forgotten, especially in the current economic environment. Fate, however, has a way of asserting itself in many subtle ways. In my case, it was the simple act of answering a “for sale” ad in a motorcycle forum. It is not necessary to bore the reader with useless details, suffice it to say I was impressed with the bike and I purchased it on the spot, considering it too good a deal to walk away from. Now all I had to do was determine how I was going to get it home. Did I mention the bike was in Salt Lake City, home is Galveston, Texas. The adventure had begun.

First, some background. I am not a seasoned biker. Nor am I a newcomer, I have owned two motorcycles and a moped in the past, the most recent a Suzuki GZ250 which I ride daily (I do not own a car). The GZ is a wonderful bike and is perfect as a short distance commuter, although I have made several longer rides of the 100-150 mile variety. The major shortcoming is that it is not quite suitable for any respectable distance carrying a passenger, and my wife likes to ride the back seat. That being said, I was always looking at bigger bikes, hoping someday to be able to afford one we could both enjoy. That opportunity came when I saw that ad and called about it. Remember I mentioned FATE earlier? As it turned out, we were scheduled to visit my daughter’s family in August and our travel date was only about a week and a half after I saw the ad. The owner of the bike was very cooperative and agreed to hold the bike long enough for us to inspect and test drive it. The rest is history.

I am now the proud owner of a 1980 Yamaha XS850S, a 29 year old bike that looks like new. The previous owners had taken very good care of it and it was ridden often by the most recent owner. This told me there should be few, if any, concerns about mechanical reliability. Shipping the bike home to Texas would cost near as much as the purchase price and would be cost prohibitive. Hell, the thing has wheels, the most logical course of action would be “RIDE IT HOME”. I stored the bike in my daughter’s garage and began planning. Are you aware Salt Lake City is approximately 1600 miles from Galveston.

I was struggling against a time/weather window. I knew I had to retrieve the bike before it got to be uncomfortably cold to travel, especially before the snow started flying. Otherwise I would have to wait until next Spring to make the trip, and that just would not do. On September 19 I jumped on a plane in Houston and flew to SLC. For the next two days I meticulously examined the bike, changed oil, tightened fastenings, charged the battery, and fought the army of butterflies gathering in my gut. I cannot be absolutely sure when I finally realized what I was doing, it must have been a gradual awakening, but at some point it grabbed me and I wondered when I had gone insane. Here I was, 1600 miles from the relative safety of home, about to go on the road with a strange machine I was only very vaguely familiar with, over a route I had traveled only partially. The road atlas I had used to plan my route showed very few features along the chosen path, the shortest route I could manage. There is a reason for the lack of detail, there just isn’t anything out there. What had I gotten myself into?

I was committed, or should have been, one of those interpretive things. On Monday morning, September 21, 2009, I was packed and ready to go, the target date had arrived. I rolled the bike out of the garage and cranked it up. It roared to life immediately, anticipating a glorious ride South. That’s what should have happened. As it turned out that is the point at which this narrative turned South. Several things conspired to delay my departure.

Remember that weather window I mentioned earlier? While I had been paying close attention to developing weather patterns in the weeks leading up to this moment, as I was making final preparations my weather sense abandoned me as I concentrated my full effort on the bike. Somehow a mild cold front slipped by in the night and by the morning of departure was located somewhere in the southern part of the state. The air was a bit nippy when I stepped out of the house that morning. As I had not anticipated this turn of events I had not brought along any winter clothing. Oh, I did have a thermal liner in my riding jacket and I did pack an insulated coverall I usually use in cool weather. I knew I might need those. What I did not pack was long sleeved shirts, or insulated gloves. More about that later.

Not being totally familiar with this machine, I inadvertently overlooked some very important mechanical details. The original vacuum operated fuel valves had been replaced with manual valves. This is not a major thing but as I, like most humans, am a creature of habit, I forgot to turn them on before starting the engine. I don’t have to perform this mundane operation with my other bike. Again, not a big thing under normal conditions. When I started the engine it ran perfectly, right up to the time the carburetor float bowls ran dry, at which point I realized my mistake ( Stupid me, I had done the very same thing 45 days ago when I stored it in the garage). Solution, turn the valves on and start it back up, right? Wrong! The previous owner had been using 20W50 oil during the summer months and I mistakenly thought it might be a good thing to keep that weight oil for the extended operating hours the bike would be subjected to on the long trip. I had not reckoned on the oil thickening up when the cold front passed through so when I tried to restart the engine, the battery was not strong enough to turn it over. Break out the new battery charger and wait another hour before departure. The learning curve just got shorter and the air temperature was rising as the day grew older. I managed to start the engine and after a short refueling stop, I was finally on my way, WHOOHOO!!!

Interstate Highway 15 South out of Salt Lake City is much like any other interstate highway anywhere else so little description is necessary. Where I come from however, we do not have the Wasatch Mountains as a backdrop. Interestingly, the farther south I went, the cooler it became. I was riding in the pocket of cold air behind the front which passed through the night before. I was comfortable enough for the moment wearing jeans and my riding jacket with thermal liner, insulated boots and light weight leather work gloves. I left the interstate at Spanish Fork, turning East onto highway 6. This road leads immediately into the mountains and is a very enjoyable scenic route, great for a bike ride. I noticed some of the tension from the day’s previous setbacks beginning to dissipate. I filled the tank again at about 100 miles because I was not sure where the next gas station might be and I wanted to check the gas milage. The bike was getting approximately 40 MPG, not bad. I would like to mention, after the poor beginning that day, once on the road the bike performed flawlessly. I was especially pleased with the responsiveness of the throttle and smoothness of power delivery through the shaft drive to the wheel. Many people do not like buckhorn style handle bars but I found them quite comfortable. My only complaint at this time would be with the little “flyscreen” windshield. A more worthless piece of equipment I could not then imagine. It does not shield the rider from anything and quite possibly directs wind into the rider’s face making head control difficult at speeds above 60. I must correct this at the earliest possible opportunity.

Continuing on highway 6 over the mountains, thoroughly enjoying the magnificent scenery, I became aware of the cold. I pulled off the road at a scenic turnout to take a break and take some pictures. I also donned a pair of leather chaps I had acquired with the bike. As it turns out, this location has historic significance. There are memorial monuments commemorating a mine disaster which occurred in the early 1900’s and also the building of a coal fired power plant which supplies most of that area with electricity. The turnout is located just north of the junction of US Hwy 6 with US Hwy 191 at Helper, Utah.

Back on the road moving South, the scenery began to change from the verdant tree lined mountainsides undergoing their annual Fall foliage color change, to more of a desert motif punctuated by sand colored mesas and a noticeable lack of green vegetation. Eventually Hwy 6/191 intersected Interstate hwy 70 near Green River, Utah. I turned East toward Crescent Junction. My route called for me to follow US Hwy 191 South from Crescent Junction. Just before that exit there is a rest stop on top of one of those mesas I mentioned. It was a wonderful place to re-hydrate and collect your thought while enjoying the panoramic views of the valley. I could easily see for several miles in all directions, including the road I was about to travel to my first nights destination in Monticello.

The learning curve returned. I was riding along, minding my own business, bike running fine, me enjoying the scenery, when somewhere south of Moab the engine suddenly died. I mean it just died. Maybe it coughed once or twice, maybe not, I really don’t recall. All I know is it just up and died. I knew I was close to my destination but it was not yet in sight and I didn’t really know exactly how far away it was. I was on the side of a lonely road, with very little traffic, very cold wind blowing about 30 miles per hour, and I had no clue what might be wrong. Supposedly, the bike has a 6+ gallon tank which, at 40 mpg, should yield a 240 mile range. The trip odometer was showing 166 miles. No way I was out of gas, besides, the engine didn’t give any of the typical indications of being starved for fuel before shutting down. In my mind I had to rule that out immediately as the cause of my current dilemma. So then, what could the problem be? I was clueless. I was beginning to panic but I managed to perform the usual mental checklist, fuel lines, electrical connections spark plugs, etc. Luckily I was still in an area where my cell phone had some reception and I called my daughter to let her know the situation. She flew into action and borrowed a trailer from a friend and made plans to come rescue me later that night. At this point I was some 300 miles from SLC. After looking at several things several times and discovering no probable cause for the failure, for some reason I opened the tank and peered inside. I could detect no fuel level so I gave the bike a shake. I very faintly heard some sloshing way down deep in the bowels of the tank, but it sounded weak and insignificant. Hmmm, maybe I was out of gas after all. I flipped the fuel valve handles into the reserve position and hit the starter. What could it hurt, right? Well did I ever feel stupid when the engine belched out a momentary cloud of black smoke and then roared into life seemingly unaffected by the incident. I called my daughter back to instruct her to stand down and stand by. Cautiously I proceeded on my way, for just a few miles.

You guessed it, it stopped again. This time I was paying attention. There was no typical indication of running out of gas, it just stopped running, and I was still several miles from town. I flagged down a passing truck, the kind that appeared to perhaps service oil field equipment, and asked the driver if he might happen to have any spare gas, enough to get me into town. He stated he thought he just might and produced two cans. One had oil mixed but the other he willingly gave me, and refused any remuneration. Thankfully I accepted and poured what was offered into my tank. It did get me closer but not quite there before I ran out of gas again. Flagging down another truck, this one pulling a trailer with a four-wheeler ATV aboard, the driver agreed to proceed into town, buy some gas and return. I stayed with the bike, not willing to leave it unattended fully loaded as it was. It was at this point I discovered my mistake. It seems that when I left SLC, or sometime after that, I had left the choke in the on position, causing the engine to drink more than it really needed. The learning curve in action, my other bike runs differently with the choke on than with it in a normal run position. This one just runs the same with or without, except it uses more gas. Another lesson learned, I think. Anyway thanks to Brad for the gas to get me into Monticello, he also refused to take any payment, and he brought me three gallons. I pulled into the Canyonlands Motor Inn about dusk, cold, frustrated, relieved, and really upset with myself. A hot meal and a few beers were definitely in order. Day one distance traveled 300 miles.

Day two. Awoke to a brisk chilly morning. Repacked the bike, dressed more for the colder weather, and proceeded to crank it up. Nothing, well almost nothing. It acted as if it had a very weak battery, and I know all that traveling yesterday had to have charged it considerably well. OK, now what? I knew if I kept attempting to use the electric starter it would surely run the battery down. I decided to try to jump start it, problem was there was no one around with jumper cables. I obtained a phone book from the motel clerk. Happily there was a Honda dealer in town. The man there told me as soon as he could find someone to watch the store, he would come try to get me started. True to his word, he arrived shortly and got me going. He even checked the alternator output for me. All appeared good. This man also refused payment for his services, needless to say, I was impressed with these people in this part of the world. I also felt like a completely useless dumb ass. A quick fuel stop down at the corner station and I’m on my way.

The bike started right up after it had warmed up a bit and was running perfectly. I should mention here that this bike has a kick starter in addition to the electric one. I had hesitated to use it before now as I had had a very bad experience with a kick starter on a Harley Sportster some years ago, breaking my leg in the process. I should not have worried as it turned out. Now I know, if the battery isn’t strong enough to crank the engine, it still might have enough juice to start the engine using the kick starter. That learning curve thing again. My confidence grew with every lesson learned. Traveling East on US hwy 491, I proceeded on to Cortez, Colorado, and beyond. I passed numerous Native American Indian Reservations, glorious scenery, farms, ranches, casinos. The day warmed up as I moved along, but not much. Cutting the SW corner of Colorado, I managed to make it to Cuba, NM by late afternoon, a short 200 miles, but I was drained. The bike performed flawlessly however, I was thankful for that. Looking back, I think the main reason I stopped in Cuba, besides just a rest stop, is I was chilled. As I rolled into town I spotted a gas station/convenience store and pulled in. As I was having a hot beverage in the store I glanced across the street. There, set against a backdrop of evergreen clad mountainside, I saw an old motel, with a chimney over the office area. There was smoke emanating from the chimney and I was hooked. I resolved then and there that I was staying the night here, in this motel. The hostess was most gracious and her husband was a biker. I highly recommend the Frontier Motel in Cuba, New Mexico.

The next morning, as expected by now, the bike refused to start, even using the kick starter. When I first went out I discovered frost at least an eighth inch thick on the moose hide seat. The motel roof was also covered with frost. The overnight temperature, I later learned, had plummeted to around 32 degrees. I busied myself for awhile by charging the battery and doing not much else. The morning warmed quickly and I was able to start the bike with the kicker without any problem, another lesson learned. Traveling was still cold however, in fact it was so cold I was forced to stop shortly and purchase a long sleeved shirt with a turtle neck collar and a warm pair of riding gloves. The shirt I was impressed with. The gloves, not so much. They were warm enough and I suspect waterproof, but a real challenge to get on and off. Given the amount of difficulty involved, that pretty much ended the picture taking for a while as I could not maneuver the cheap camera I was using with them on.

I was now approaching Albuquerque. I had planned to make a slight detour up north to Madrid, the site of the movie Wild Hogs, just to say I had been there. By now I felt I had lost so much time with my stupid delayed starts, I might just be better off saving that excursion for another time. A man I met at the motel in Cuba told me the connecting road to the highway for Madrid was not a good road so I scratched that destination from my list, glad I did. I encountered Interstate 25 at Bernallilo and used State Hwy 556 as a bypass around Albuquerque to Interstate 40, good decision, nice route. I stayed with I 40 all the way to Santa Rosa where I picked up US Hwy 84 south to Fort Sumner and beyond. I was tempted to stop to have a look at the old fort and the grave of Billy the Kid, but I pressed on. I was warming up by this time and feeling much less fatigued. US 84 took me through Clovis, NM and Lubbock, TX all the way to Post , Texas where I finally gave up for the day. Total miles on day three 500.

Post, Texas is a nice little place, founded by the cereal magnate C.W. Post. Surrounded by low mesas covered with what I presume to be grass and/or shrubs, the area was warm and inviting, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I was in Texas again, that meant closer to home, and I was ready to be there. From here I had just two more days of travel, and in the much warmer climes of my native state I knew I could easily make the 300 miles to my next target, Johnson City. The weather up to that time had been cooperating nicely, cool but clear and good riding conditions. Leaving Post however, I was about to dance in the rain. I had checked the weather report and the radar picture showed a line of showers, not heavy but steady, moving up from the southwest. They appeared to be passing close to but south of my intended course, and should be through the area before I got anywhere near them. I was wrong. Shortly after leaving Post behind me I encountered light rain, and kept encountering it for the next 150 miles, almost continuously. Thankfully it was not real cold and I managed to press on through it. I had elected to wear my insulated coveralls, which are not waterproof, rather than raingear. As I stated, I thought I would be avoiding the rain, or most of it. I also elected, once I was in it, to not stop to change to the rain gear, again thinking I would soon be out of the wet stuff. It’s all about the experience right. I got thoroughly soaked from the waist down. About half way to my destination I rode out of the rain and the sun came from behind the clouds and suddenly it was a beautiful day again. Continuing on, I dried as I rode along. The coveralls were almost completely dry by the time I reached Johnson City. My jeans and socks were still wet however. No matter. I was in a place where I could relax and take life easy. I have a cousin who lives there and I just peeled off all my wet things and threw them in the washer with all my dirty stuff from the trip.

The next day, Friday, was to be the final leg of the trip. It was an easy 300 mile jaunt through familiar territory. Leaving Johnson City about 11:00 AM, I arrived home at exactly 5:00 PM, just enough time to unpack the bike, change clothes, and get myself to work. Total miles traveled 1600. The Yamaha XS850S is an awesome bike and I know I will be making many more long distance journeys on it in the future