With apologies to Robert Pirsig and the Chautauqua Institute
Randomization
As I’ve been on this trip, I’ve noticed or thought of a few things that don’t necessarily fit within the story but might be of interest.
After editing the prior material, I realized that the two campgrounds at which I had the quietest nights for the least money both had “family” in the name. That word frequently is a euphemism for Christian, which doesn’t exactly fit my belief system, but if it means quiet campgrounds for a good value, sign me up.
On one of the faster stretches of road, I noticed an SUV driven by a black man pacing me. According to traffic patterns, one of us would lead a while, then the other. At one point we slowed to go by two state troopers, warned by the brake lights of cars ahead. I wondered if we hadn’t slowed which of us would have been pulled over first – the black man or the biker? Neither of us are particularly liked by law enforcement, and it’s difficult to tell I’m an old white guy with my lid on, especially if I have the sunshades down. Not sure I could answer that question.
Every time I’ve ever come across vehicles with New York plates on the highway, they tend to be fast and aggressive. Apparently, that’s to make up for their backroad driving, which is so slow as to be painful. I found that in other states, too, but for some reason the New York group seems to have the widest dichotomy.
I mentioned that this bike was thought to be thirsty (in the fuel mileage sense of the word). I’m glad I didn’t bother to order and install the larger countershaft sprocket, because by the time I needed fuel, I needed a break. There’s an inverse proportion between comfort and gas mileage on this bike.
Finalization
I woke up a little later than planned on the final morning, but since I wasn’t going to have to stop and look for a place to stay, I didn’t think it was a big deal. I packed up the bike and hit the road.
The bike sounds a lot worse, but as I rode along, I was going through what that sound could mean. I checked the pipes when I started the bike this morning. She seems to be firing on all cylinders, so it’s not a misfire. Performance doesn’t seem significantly reduced. Clutch isn’t slipping. I don’t hear a whistle that might be an exhaust leak. I continue to narrow it down and decide that what I have is a leak on the intake side, most likely one of the airbox boots. Sounds ugly but isn’t likely to be catastrophic, so I rode on.
After a couple hours, I decided it was time to be home. Not to GO home, but to BE home. Changed from my printed back road route to Google Maps on my phone and told it to get me there the fastest way, highways and all.
I didn’t count on heat. I hadn’t brought the phone mount that fits on top of my tank bag, so my phone was stuck in the map pocket of the tank bag, and it kept overheating and shutting off. I tried keeping the tank bag unzipped as much as possible, but it didn’t seem to help. After a while I changed tack. I pulled off the road, let the phone cool, and started the mapping again. This time I snagged the pen and my written directions from the tank bag and wrote down the remaining steps on the back of my printed directions. Apparently, there’s value in being a Luddite.
3 hours later, I was home. You’ve never seen…
- …a dog so happy to see his human, and
- …a guy so happy to be off a motorcycle.
If you have read this entire series, thank you for taking this journey with me.