ya know, yesterday I felt a little bad about bypassing Boulder (and Dave) in the interest of keeping a little buffer on the return trip home. This morning, as I looked over the weather report, it seemed that mother-nature would be ready to consume my cushion as there was a wall of rain between me and home. Well, a day spent touring motorcycle factories and museums would not be all that terrible would it? So I dive headlong into the mucky wetness and charge forth. At a gas stop somewhere in Minnesota I discovered a loose bolt on my homebrew lightmount and fortunately find an Ace hardware nearby. M6 nylocks? ha! ya kidding? So intentionally cross-threaded some 1/4-20s and will have to make do. But what is with the picture?
Shortly after I realized that following a livestock truck (with loads of oinkers) in the rain was not exactly a great idea, I felt a shudder...then a hesitation and kaput. No more good vibes from between my legs. aargh. But luckily the rain spares me a moment to make a call or three. Spot has me located accurately although I had a tough time communicating that to the lady at the auto club. I whine a little to Megan but shortly thereafter out comes Mark (who moved to Colorado and found it not nearly cold enough) and rescues us. Mark echoes a sentiment I'd heard in Montana..."no need for me to go east of the Mississippi"! We swap some bs and all is good.
So for the first time in weeks, I'm going down the road, listening to music, AC and have my right hand free. After 3 hours I crawl out of the rent-a-truck in more pain than I'd been in the past three weeks. Tomorrow, the plan is to go visit Oz and perhaps get a tour and some advise on the state of my poor ride. It has been great fun, and it feels like a bit of a shame to end like this but cest la vive eh?
OBTW, it felt like I was in an episode of 'A prairie home companion'.... inside smile, inside smile
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