Monday July 1st, 2002
Start: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
End: Clovis, New Mexico
377 Miles
|
Rain
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma |
We wake to steady rain and a gray sky. But
I have a plan...
I figure that since Oklahoma City is a good-sized
city, it might be worthwhile to try to find
a Kawasaki dealer or a bearing dealer to
try to buy steering head bearings. I could
have them installed at any Kawasaki dealer
that I felt confident with along the way.
I figure that a dealer in Phoenix would be
a good choice to do the work, while we spend
a few days there at the convention.
I check Bryan Moody's Net list of alternate
parts and start going through the phonebook
looking for bearing supply houses.
The local Kawasaki dealers are closed on
Monday, but Allied Bearing Supply (the first
place in the book, and first place I call)
has them in stock. They turn out to be about
a half-mile away - south on Meridian two
blocks and then east on the Will Rogers Parkway
about two blocks. Talk about luck! I buy
the bearings, and pack them away with the
tools and spare parts. This takes all of
about 10 minutes.
Then Sharon and I walk across the street
in the rain to the International House of
Pancakes for breakfast.
After breakfast, there's a problem
with the
credit card. The manager tells us not
to
worry, they'll try running it again
and there's
no need for us to wait around.
Before getting on I-40, we need fuel. The
credit card is rejected at the pump, and
Sharon is stumped. I tell her that I've heard
of such things on the Long Distance Riders
List, several tanks of fuel in various states
and the card is cancelled due to bank wondering
if it's stolen due to strange purchasing
patterns. That's probably what the problem
was at the IHOP. A phone call to the bank
solves the problem. We gas and go.
It's good to be on I-40. I feel as though
I'm finally down south and out west; I-40
and Oklahoma make it official.
We ride through the rain for a few
hours,
stopping only for fuel. The rain tapers
off,
the sun comes out, the roads dry and
at our
second gas stop we put away our rain
gear.
It's windy, very windy - but that just
means
the roads will dry a bit faster.
Regarding scenery: western Oklahoma through
Texas, and the scenery slowly changes. Outside
Oklahoma City, there's a lot of greenery
and it's fairly thick. It's not what I would
call dessert, it's far too green. But bit
by bit, the brush gets shorter and shorter,
and then the plants get further and further
apart from each other. The land itself becomes
more arid, and we start to see small cacti.
It's like watching the Earth go bald, bit
by bit.
With the roads dry, we crank the speed
up
a notch. Moving right along, and suddenly
the bike has a funny hiccup. I wonder
if
maybe it's that #1 spark plug again,
but
it was just a brief hiccup so I'm not
so
sure. We ride across a grass shoulder
and
onto the frontage road, and stop under
an
overpass. I don't see anything obviously
wrong, but I've got a strong hunch
so I remove
the fuel line from the petcock in order
to
pull the tank and Ouch!! The vacuum petcock has failed, there's no
longer an "off" positon, and gasoline
is running down my hand and onto the hot
engine. I scramble to get the fuel line back
on the petcock nipple while swearing in the
heat. The gasoline is burning my hand and
the engine is hot and and we're a long way
from anywhere.
Besides that - four different mechanical
failures in three days? I've never had so
much trouble so close together on any motorcycle
I've ever owned - never.
I ponder the situation. I don't know
why
the bike hiccupped, but theorize that
maybe
a big gulp of fuel headed down the
vacuum
line into the intake manifold and caused
the incident. Maybe..?
I come up with a plan. Since the petcock
is "on" all the time, riding isn't
a problem - stopping for the night is, if
a needle valve sticks and fills a cylinder
with fuel. However, if we run the tank onto
vacuum-reserve, we could then switch the
petcock to vacuum-on and since that standpipe
is taller we'd actually be turning the fuel
supply off by going to the vacuum-on position.
Solved, at least well enough that we could
ride it home this way, with some forethought.
I put the bike together, try to wash the
fuel off my hands with rubbing alcohol, and
we continue on our way. All seems well now.
Odd.
The Texas panhandle is nice enough, but very
windy at times. What few trees there are
seem permanently bent - I guess the wind
never stops. By this time, the scenery is
mostly scrubby vegetation and some scattered
cattle and watering holes and watering tanks
and an occasional ruin, all tucked safely
away from the freeway behind barbed wire
fences.
We pull into Amarillo around 4:00 PM, and
since the bike is under warranty I wonder
if maybe we could get a petcock there. We
stop at an auto parts store, they loan us
a telephone and phone book, and we call the
local Kawasaki dealer. No, they don't have
a petcock or diaphragm for a Concours. They
wish me luck, though.
|
Big Texan Steak Ranch
Amarillo, Texas |
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Big Texan Steak Ranch
Amarillo, Texas |
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We're also hungry, but we have no idea where
to go for supper. The people in the auto
parts store suggest a local cafeteria, but
after we're outside I mention to Sharon the
restaurant I saw as we came into Amarillo
- "The Big Texan Steak Ranch".
Looks like it's been there awhile, definitely
Rt. 66 flavored. Sharon keeps mentioning
that she wants local food, so we go for it.
Turns out "The Big Texan" really
does date to the Rt. 66 days. It's a false-fronted
building styled exactly like something you'd
see on a Western TV show, and a 30' tall
cowboy beckons travelers in from I-40.
Inside, the place is styled like a western
dance hall. The waiters and waitresses are
dressed like cowboys and cowgirls, saddles
and revolvers and rifles and ropes are displayed
on the walls, a wooden Indians guards the
the entrance, and murals and photos depicting
the glory days of the place back before I-40
came through. This is the real thing, at
least the real "Rt. 66 tourist"
thing.
The menu is on a big wooden board that the
waiter / waitress hands you. One good deal
is that if you can eat the 72 oz. steak by
yourself in under an hour, your meal is free.
72 ounces? That's four and a half pounds!
We don't order that, instead we end up splitting
one of the smaller cuts. We aren't ranchers
or cowboys or even farmers, our stomachs
just aren't that big.
The steak turns out to be excellent, and
afterwards I nibble on the end of one of
the garnishes - some little green vegetable
I don't recognize at first. Tastes good,
so I recommend it to Sharon - we both take
a big bite, and holy crap - it's a jalapeno!
We finish our tea, and then our water. The
heat just sorta sneaks up on you. I'm laughing,
choking a little, and Sharon is doing the
same. The waitress refills our water and
our tea, and we leave the place satisfied
and a bit wiser.
From Amarillo, we head towards Clovis, New
Mexico via I-27 south to US-60 west. The
scenery slowly becomes more and more desolate
as we continue west. Hereford, Texas isn't
much to write about - a small town with big
cattle feedlots. You can smell them long
before you see them, thousands of cattle
spread over lots of acres, and densely packed
into outdoor pens. Typically, they seem to
be near railroad tracks and feed elevators
as well.
From Hereford, Texas; to Clovis, New
Mexico
the feedlots are a common sight.
So are the trains - train traffic is
very
heavy. We see one long freight train
after
another, and shortly after that another
and
another. Not a lot of time between
the trains;
it's good to see a healthy railroad.
We arrive in Clovis at dusk. Steve lives
in Clovis and had emailed me and asked if
I would give him a call when passing through.
I said we would, but I don't think he believed
me - he sounds surprised when he answers
the phone and I say "Hello! This is
Doug Grosjean, and we're in Clovis..."
Steve tells us to stay at the motel, he'll
be right there. We do, and he is - in a car.
He explains that he's leaving Clovis at 3:00
AM the next day on business, so things are
a bit frantic - but he makes time to play
host to us. He's extremely polite, but he
does mention that he was hoping to meet my
son Jean-Luc instead of Sharon. He's heard
more about Jean-Luc than about Sharon...
Sharon replies that Jean-Luc is better on
paper than in person, and I point out that
he's 7 years old and precocious. Steve says
no apologies are needed.
We jump in Steve's car, grab some food
at
the local A&W drive thru, and head
back
to Steve's place to hang out for a
bit.
Steve asks if there's anything we need
-
I ask for Net access and his opinion
on route
selection across northern New Mexico.
We
want a local opinion, and we want something
that avoids I-40 and gets us over to
the
Silver City area along the Arizona
border
with nice scenery. He tells me he can
supply
both a computer and a route suggestion.
Cool!
At Steve's house, I print out directions
from the Net on how to turn the Concours
vacuum petcock into a manual petcock
- just
in case. A bit more work than I want
to do
on the road with the tools I have,
especially
considering that the bike is still
under
warranty.
Steve offers us the use of his tools and
garage, but given that Clovis is rather small
I turn him down - the bike is mobile and
I think I'd best just leave it be for now
as I don't wish to be stranded here. Dad's
voice tells me it's that last touch of perfection
that so often turns a job to crap, and I
think it's best to listen to that voice.
Trying to make the bike whole again in Clovis
might well turn the trip to crap. The offer
is appreciated, but I'll pass.
For a routing, Steve recommends US-60 to
Quemado with a stop at Pie Town for pie.
Then New Mexico Rt. 32 south to Apache Creek
and Reserve, then US-180 south to Silver
City. Steve says the pies alone are worth
it, and that there's lots of other scenery
along the way as well - Indian ruins and
dessert and the Very Large Array radio telescope,
among other things.
We have some drinks and then talk a bit,
about lots of things. Motorcycle things.
Observed trials, and Triumph motorcycles,
and being young and then being old and looking
back, about how the older guys like him read
the stuff I write and go "Oh yeah -
I remember what that was like!" Sharon
plays with a mapping program on the computer,
while Steve gives me routing advice for good
scenery along the way in New Mexico. We watch
some videos and discuss art. No particular
direction to the conversation, just 3 like-minded
folks enjoying each other's company. Three
separate conversations, actually, all three
sorta mingling a bit.
All too soon, Steve has to get some
sleep.
He takes us back to the motel, past
the local
Kawasaki dealer so we know where it
is in
the morning. We shake hands and say
our goodbyes
and good nights, and Steve is gone.
Back in the motel, I realize that if the
local dealer can't do me any good, well...
if I could just get the vacuum diaphragm
back to it's normally closed position I could
plug the vacuum line and use the "Prime"
position of the petcock, and simply use the
petcock manually. Prime would be on, and
all other positions would be off with the
vacuum line plugged. No problem, I had a
BMW twin with manual petcocks until 1997
so I can remember..
But what can I plug the vacuum line with?
Ah-hah! I mix some epoxy putty from my spares
kit (comes in a roll and you chop off a chunk
and then knead it), and roll some BBs of
various sizes to use as plugs in the AM.
I figure if I'm lucky, the diaphragm might
have closed by itself by then.
In the morning I'll try to get this
newest
problem handled. Maybe with a new petcock
or diaphragm from the local dealer,
or in
a worst-case scenario we'll simply
continue
on with my jury-rigged repair.
Pleased that at least I'm able to solve things
as they occur, I relax a bit. Sharon points
out that the bike is sure giving a lot of
trouble on this trip. Yes, I'd noticed that
too. She points out that I spent a lot of
time doing preventative maintenance before
we left, and yet it's still giving trouble
- yes; I know, I know.. I ask her to recall
our trip to Bike Week in 2001, when the bike
was trouble-free. Or several other trips,
and lots of commuting miles when I've never
been stranded.
No, I'm not very happy with the bike at that
point. But just like people, you don't just
get rid of it due to one or two or three
problems - you work through them. Now, if
there's a fourth and fifth and sixth and
seventh problem, or if the problems simply
don't end, well, this is a great year for
new bikes in the sport-touring market.
I figure that now I've just gathered
a few
more data points about when some components
fail on my bike, and that I'll likely
never
be stuck again by the same type of
failure.
Then it's off to bed, hoping I'm right about
data points, and that all will be well in
the AM.
Best,
Doug Grosjean
Pemberville, Ohio |