I day dream about a motorcycle. To keep creating new memories, and still enjoy recalling some old ones.
A few years ago I worked with Guy Christopher at Respond First Aid. He has always had motorcycles. We have stayed in contact, and I called him. Sure enough, he had a Suzuki M50 he said he might sell.
I've not thought of myself as a cruiser guy. But the foot controls are more forward, so I thought, maybe this is something I can ride. The old knees don't bend as well as they did a few years ago.
A month or so after talking to Guy, I called him again. He still had it, and said I should come ride it. The next Saturday, I was off work, and made a quick trip up there. It was 100 miles to his house in Pleasant View.
I got there at 7:30. We ate a biscuit, and talked about good old days. Then we looked around his farm at his toys, and tractors. Finally, we looked at the motorcycle. It looked great, sounded great, and rode great. I rode it a couple of miles down the road and back. By 9AM, we agreed on a price. I left part of the money with him, and promised to return in a week or two with the rest and get the bike. It needed a front tire, which we agreed to split.
A week later, I took the knowledge test at the DMV, and passed. The riding skills test was scheduled for June 10.
The trip to Guy's house to pick up the Suzuki went smoothly. The trip back home, however, was full of drama. Two miles from Guy's house, I stopped at Hardees to get our breakfast. Then the truck wouldn't start. I noticed the thin cheap battery connector on the positive side was coming apart. There was a good heavy duty one in the tool box, so I swapped it out. Then one of the workers at Hardees came out and jumped the battery. I was happy to give her some folding money as a thank you. It seemed the problem was fixed. We charged the battery at Guy's house with one of those big car lot chargers, while we talked and visited. The alternator should charge the battery up once the engine is running. It started, and off I went towards home. 50 miles later, with the air blowing, phone charging, and radio blasting, the truck started shutting down. If the alternator was working, that should not have happened. Two miles from exit 89, the gages all went to zero, and the engine started missing. The electric fuel pump no longer had enough power to run.
A quick assessment of my situation was...I'm about to be on the side of the interstate with a trailer and motorcycle. It is 90 degrees and getting hotter. I called Terri and Will and told them where I was, and that I may need some help. They would be on standby for my next call.
I held the gas to the floor as the truck sputtered, then the engine died as I reached exit 89. To my surprise, and joy, I coasted up the ramp, rolled through a stop sign, and turned left into the Shell truck stop parking lot. The momentum was almost gone, but I aimed for the ice machine on the sidewalk. With no power steering, I had my hands full. I was lucky to be off the interstate.
There had to be a plug there somewhere. I had a 6 amp battery charger in the tool box. I put the hood up, and set the charger on the radiator, and went inside. There were two people working behind the counter. Their names were Sherry and Thomas. They saw me coast in, then raise the hood. I told them what happened, and asked if they had a extension cord I could borrow. In no time, Sherry had me one. Then I was charging the battery, drinking Mountain Dew, and eating their deli food.
I called Terri back, and told the great news, that I made it to the truck stop, and had a plan.
The charger stayed on for two hours. After a internet search on 6 amp chargers, and dead batteries, I called John LaCook to get some advice. The google math and calculations led me to believe I had enough battery. John said two hours might get me home.
Sherry, Thomas, and later Xavier were so nice, and understanding and kind to loan me that cord, and access to their electricity. They didn't mind me hanging around in their deli dining area. I could have been stuck on the interstate with no great plan. There was nothing to complain about, and I was thankful for their kindness and hospitality.
Once the charger came off, I returned the cord, Thanked them again, and headed home. I still had 46 miles to go, and I had to be more efficient than the last 54 miles.
I counted amps like the crew of Apollo 13.
I made it, but I missed church, so my original plan didn't work out very well. The motorcycle was home, and I was home safe and sound. I did meet some interesting people, and drank a lot of Mtn. Dew.
That afternoon, it was out with the old alternator, in with the new. At our house, it takes some time to find the right tools, then not breaking things becomes the top priority.
Fast forward a few weeks. The registration and title were changed to my name, and we paid for some insurance. On Friday, June 10, I overcame my nerves, and passed the skills test. I was legal.
During the last week, I have ridden the M50 to work every day. It is a wonderful way to travel back and forth. The steering is coming back to me, and each time out my confidence and balance improve. Stay in the throttle, don't downshift in a curve, and 50 miles per hour feels like 70. There is no need for speed like maybe I had a few years ago. It is quite an adrenaline rush.
One interesting thing. All the waving from other bikers, and waving back. We are a friendly bunch!
Thinking about getting a rear seat for the M50, so I can stretch a bit, and also so Terri can join me on some evening and Saturday afternoon rides.
After all, our first "date" was on a motorcycle, thirty five years ago, on that '74 Kawasaki 900. (motorcycle #4)
Day dreams sometimes become reality. With an abundance of caution, new memories begin again.