362 miles
Day 2 - Somewhere over the ...
And so, we left you on the edge of your mouse, wondering what munificent, manifold blessing befell our bold adventurers.
Well ...
Before we get to that, let's talk about the road to Blackwater, Kansas by night and the difference between grout and tile.
The three-mile run to Blackwater off I-70 is a road you want to introduce to Momma and marry. It is a sinuous ribbon of asphalt, swerving and curving through verdant countryside. (Bonus: The Iron Horse's wonderful food and atmosphere at the end of the too-short jaunt.)
We could easily see bringing our brides back to this quaint little town. (Keep your earplugs handy for the evening — the train track is hard by downtown.)
And now, on to Kansas.
Todd has crossed it before, with a 35 mph crosswind, which left both him and his bride off kilter for hours afterwards. The perfect time to cross Kansas, we conclude, is the middle of a starry summer night with dead-calm winds and all the truckers safely tucked into their sleepers.
We assumed our "normal" nighttime flying pattern, each to his own lane, high beams on. That gave us a great swath of white light to help us blast through the night. We did get tickled by a few eastbound truckers who flashed their high beams at us. But we were rarely passed, and we both had room to manuever while complimenting each other's headlight patterns.
We've also done this with three bikes, a Harley dresser Michael trailing, and that also amply lights up the night.
Todd has a 55/85 watt illegal skyburner in his headlight bucket; Michael has the standard cockeyed GS arrangment, and two Hella FF60s (we think), mounted low down on the GS Paris Dakar crash bars he mounted on his regular GS.
Todd bought a pair of those for his next bike, but is unwilling to tax his aging Airhead electrical system, already burdened under heated grips and two outlets for electric vests.
And now, grout vs. tile.
Todd is the grout guy, who tippy-taps out that verbiage that appears between Michael's custom-crafted photos, or tiles. Well, mostly. Todd shot many of these photos.
Michael does occasionally mix a bucket or two of grout, of which large teaspoons actually turn out.
But on to the munificent blessings. By not checking into a room in Missouri or Kansas, Kansas blessed us with this at sunrise:
And this:
And this: Yes this is Todd using I-70 as a parking space!
And this.
And we can't forget the GS
It was just beautiful light great for a couple of hams
And the best shot for last. The RT heading down the road
to it's date with 100K.
But enough about miracles. What about seeming insoluble
mechanical problems?
Tune in and zoom in to the next segment as our hapless
heroes seek to solve "The Mystery of the Missing Jug."
Just the stats ma'am
Here is the stats after 22 hours. We got that low max
speed corrected shortly down the long straight stretches
of Kansas highway.
Michael's biggest fear is getting pulled over by some
trooper for doing ten over. Then having him reach over
and tap the GPS a couple of times and smiling when he
sees the top speed. "Hope you brought your VISA card,
boy."
Michael wakes from that nightmare often.
Uh, officer, that top speed must be a software glitch.
Kansas heat can do that to electronics.
The Case
of the Missing Jug
Did we say insoluble mechanical problems?
Wouldn't that be unsolveable mechanical problems, since
most mechanical problems cannot be dissolved in solution?
(Unless you are talking about beer in a pole barn, that
is!)
But wait. We had to get breakfast in Kansas, didn't we?
And how do you identify a great place to eat in Kansas?
Well, you don't look at those stupid state highway signs,
unless you just want a breakfast burrito (like the 30 or
so Harley people out for a short morning ride did.)
Nosirree, what you do is troll a town about a mile off
the I-state and find a guy with a beat-up cowboy hat
pumping gas. You ask him where he would eat (note: not
for a recommendation, but where HE would eat. There is
always a difference!)
Anyway, where you land is a place packed with pick-em-up
trucks and old men in cowboy boots with plier holsters on
their weathered belts.
Delicious, and it beats the heck out of ordering a No. 4
from some fast-food joint.
But on to unsolveable mechanical problems. Todd was
booming along 24 in Colorado, and had just passed yet
another Buick LeSabre with a blue hair at the wheel when
his bike started missing in the middle of the pass.
Yipes!
A quick stop at a closed gas station to dump the float
bowls (Ohno marveled at the brilliant, simple design
compared to his GS) and an inspection of the spark plugs
turned up nada. One carb button appeared loose, and we
wondered if it would cause a vacuum problem. (that would
suck. :) )
Todd turned up his roll of electrical tape, Ohno pulled
up some duct tape. It seemed to help,even though it was
not the problem.
A quick call via the MOA anonymous book turned up a
dealer in Colorado Springs, and we limped in, even as the
bike seemed to greatly improve.
The dealer in Colorado Springs is a jewel, selling BMW
and Ducati. The staff was satirical, sarcastic and
interested in helping as much as possible without
inducing undue revenue.
We bought some spare spark plugs and a t-shirt, anyway.
A German team was there, prepping special factory bikes
for a pikes peak run.
And Bill was dialing in a Ducati, even as he spun off
multiple tips on how to fix Todd's airhead cheaply and
quickly. (Check plug color (did that) gap plugs (did
that) and clean out the plug wires with contact cleaner,
per Bill.
No new plug wires in stock though, so a call to Motorrad
Elektrik might happen when Todd gets home.
And what a deal David had for us. Trade in both our
bikes, sign up for a montly payment plan, and ride off
(together, apparently) with the Ducati of our choice.
But, as you can see, Todd, with just some contact
cleaner, a shop rag and elbow grease, was able to
literally transform his old airhead (now with 98,500
miles) ...
before:
after:
Next
up:
We meet a new friend, eat a great dessert, do some
continental dividing, and dodge mule deer.
Stay tuned ...