| Author | Message | ||
     Pangalactic |
Here's my tales of adventure and woe. It was a short little leisure ride that went astray...  enjoy the ride... Pictures are online on my website- http://www.klingonline.net , and click on 'photos' on the top banner. It started as the end of our family vacation. We live in Raleigh, and the in-laws rented a beach house for the week, as we do about every year. This year we were in Emerald Isle, the southernmost Island in the Outer Banks. It was the first time we stayed so close to the banks- typically we have stayed farther south- Topsail, Wilmington, Wrightsville, etc. I really wanted to get to see the outer banks, as I had never been there. Since I needed to make a trip back to Raleigh midweek for work, gas prices, and the fact that I just wanted to ride, I took the bike, my beloved S3T, while the family squeezed into a couple of cars. I was laughing all the way....... Anyways, the week goes by quickly, as all vacations do, and I planned on leaving Saturday morning to do my ride. That would give me plenty of time to explore, and stop along the way. Alas, it was not to be. The inlaws decided they were going to leave Friday afternoon, and not stay till Saturday. This decision was made Friday at noon. Thanks. I had a choice- either leave now, or stay till tomorrow and accept all responsibility for cleaning and making surte the beach house was secure, and ready for the owners. Like that's a choice. I left at around 1, and figured that the trip should take about 8 hours or so, with the ferries, and I had not checked the timetables or anything- I'd just wing it. I could take it easy, and stretch it out to about 12 hours, making the last lighthouse around sunset, and then heading home after dark. I set out on NC-58 north, and cruised - slowly - till I hit US 70. I follow that across the bay, and all the way to Cedar's Island, where the ferry to Ocracoke runs. Let me tell ya, the ride from Beaufort to Cedar's Island is some of the twistiest, prettiest coastal highway you will ever run. It was really nice riding. I pulled off a few places to get pictures, and made my way up to the ferry station. It was now about 10 till 3. There were a few cars waiting in line, but I couldn't really tell how many until I got to the gate. Turns out the next ferry runs at 3:00, and they had plenty of room for a bike or 10. If I had gotten there 10 minutes later, I would have had to wait until 6. Whew. I also found the ferry was 2 and a half hours. I really didn't expect that- I figured on an hour or so. Oh, well. A little relaxing time between islands. After an hour or so, I go out of the lounge (it was 90+ outside, and the lounge had A/C) and to my horror, the bike is tilting to the rear. Schit. Flat tire. Brand spanking new flat tire that was 3 days and 150 miles old. | ||
| Pangalactic |
I didn't bring along anything useful on this trip, either. I went and found the Coastie that was hobnobbing with the passengers and explained my dilemma, and he said no problem, happens all the time, and he's got me covered. I explain I'm on a motrocycle, and he says thats still no problem, he'll get me all fixed up. I'm thinking "Great! They've got a plug gun on board! Woo hoo!" A few minutes later, he shows up with a compressed air tank. He could give me some air, and that'll fix everything. Riiiiight. I knew better. However, it could have just been a slow leak, or the valve stem could have came loose while riding. Suddenly, I remember the rear feeling reallllly loose at one point on a relatively straight stretch of road. But the road had all sorts of ruts, and I had blown it off as road issues. Now I knew. Anyways, the Coastie airs me up, and I couldn't hear or see any leak, but his air tank had no guage, so we were guessing how much air it needed, and erred low. I could fill up at the service station- the only one on the island ahead. Great. An hour later, we arrived at Ocracoke, and the tire pressure seemed to have held. Rock. I roll off the boat, it still feeling low, and rode about three blocks to the filling station, where I was pleased to see they offered free air- a rarity in these parts. However, still no guage. And the filling station didn't have one to sell me, either. Guessing again. Ocracoke is only 14 miles long, so it was a short hop to the other ferry. Fortunately, the ferry runs ever half hour, so I didn't have to wait long. Unfortunately, I was so put off by the flat, I didn't get to enjoy much of the island- no stop at the light house, no photos, just getting from A to B. On the second ferry, it became obvious that the tire was still losing air. I was nearly flat after the half hour ride.However, Cape Hatteras is linked by bridge to the mainland, so there should be more places to stop for assistance. However, it was now approaching 7, and everyting was closed. Grrrrrreat. To my great satisfaction, I can see a few service stations as soon as I hit the road. The first one is closed, and has no air at all. The second is in the process of being built. The third is closed, but the have air- $.50 a hit,and no pressure guage. I pull in and wait behinds a Suburban trying to get air, who informs me the air hose has a broken head, and doesn't work. I check it out,m and sure enough, the pin rotates freely. At least I didn't have to waste a couple of quarters to find out. Go on to the fourth station a few miles up the street- closed down for many moons, no equipment left on site. Fifth station, no air. Sixth station, no air. this is getting annoying. Finally, I pull (verrrry slowly) into Frisco, near the midpoint of Hatteras island. Nearly 8 o'clock. I find a service staion/fishing shop that is open. I don't see any air compressors, but inside I ask, and they do have them on a side building, and it's free air. Cool. They sell pressure guages, too. Cooler. I go to pump up the tire, and get up to about 40PSI, and I hear that tell tale hiss. Under 30 PSI, you can't hear it, and until now, I had never gone that high, because I was guessing, and didn't want to blow the tire. The hiss lets me track down the hole- a small puncture, about an inch and a half/ two inches from the treadblock. Repairable. At least we're getting somewhere. I go back into the store, asking if there's anyone to do a tire patch. Expecting, and receiving the worst, no, the owner overhears and comes and talks to me. His name was Dan, he was a volunteer firefighter, and until a few months earlier, the owner of a S1 WL. (He had sold it and was going to get a Firebolt, but hadn't been able to go to the dealer yet.) I really didn't want to use Fix-a-flat, and that was all they sold. He said he had a few bottles of Tire Slime at home, and I would be welcome to one, if I wanted it. I didn't like the idea, but I was much more comfortable with that than the inflating stuff. So we go down the street to the firestation, he runs to his house and gets his slime, and we slime the tire, and use the firestation's compressor to re-air my tire. I thanked him, and took off down the road, and stopped every half hour or so, to check my pressure. It was losing, but slowly, and I wasn't sure if the slime had just not yet set. After an hour, it was obvious, it wasn't working, but it did slow the leak down, a lot. I could ride an hour now, between refills. By now it's dark, and I'm tired, and worse, I'm broke. I coulnd't get a hotel (this is tourist season, I couldn't afford one.) I decide to press on, stopping every 45 minutes or so to check and air up. Taking my time, going easy, not worrying about when I'll get home, it's no big deal. I figure there's campsites all over, I might just find a nice quiet spot and just sleep under the stars, if I got too tired. I'll see how I feel after dinner. I had forgotten I hadn't eaten since breakfast, 14 hours earlier, and I suddenly realized, "man, I'm hungry." Again, I'm broke, not to mention hardly nothing is open, and I finally ride into Manteo- the end of the line for my journey up the outer banks. (I had intended to go all the way up to Corolla, but by now had decided to screw that.) Here I could follow US 64 all the way home. FLASH!! FLASH_FLASH!! BOOOOOOM! Lightning. Thunder. Rain. Dammit, could my luck get anyworse? It starts to sprinkle, as I come into town. In Manteo, I find a Subway that's open, and they take plastic. It's in a strip mall, so I pull the bike under the roof-awning thingy, and stay dry while I eat. Luckily, by time I got done eating, the rain was copmpletely gone. I still stay dry. Yay. edited by pangalactic on June 22, 2004 | ||
| Pangalactic |
I start to hit the road again, feeling tired, but not so tired that I don't think I can make it home. I know this is only 3 to 4 hours from home, and I figure I'm good for that. I was wrong. I started draggin' about half an hour later. Well, I figure I'll just pull over somewhere, and camp out. Two miles later I see a sign. One that tells me I am not just going to camp on the side of the road. "Warning: bears next 40 miles." Then a few miles later: "Warning: do not feed bears alongside the road." "Warning: Do not provoke the bears." Niiiice. Five miles later I see my first bear on the side of the road. A little black one, probably about the same size as I am. (Keep in mind I'm about 6'4, 250 pounds, small for a bear, but still too big for me... And now I' m wide awake, hoping that I don't have to try any crash avoidance because of bears in the road, at midnight, while I'm riding solo in the absolute middle of nowhere. A few miles up the road, I stop for more air. While I was on the islands, I was fortunate enough to find almost every place that had air, was free. On the mainland, it was no longer the case. I pull out my only cash- a 5 dollar bill, buy a soda, and get the rest in quarters. Now it was 50 cents a pop for air. At least two machines had non working nozzles, but of course I didn't discover it till my money was gone. Figgers... Anyways, after stopping for air, I pull out, get on the road, and remember I wanted to check my map. I pull over- keeping an eye out for bears- and get my best stroke of luck. An ambulance is coming up fast. I kick up after the ambulance, and tail it all the way to Princeton, about 60 miles. I figure, if my tire blows, they would see it, and I would have help pretty quickly. I could follow it close, as if I was family of who was in side, and most police would leave me alone, too. Sure enough, we're doing 90 in a 50, and we fly by two state troopers, obviously clocking. I didn't touch my brakes, they didn't touch their gas, everybody is happy. In Princeton, I needed more air, and so I lost the ambulance, but made it home about two hours later. Now I need a vacation from my vacation. Pang | ||
| Ezblast |
Nothing like following an ambulance to stay awake - lol - Great adventure! You didn't see all you wanted, but I bet you can tell me which stations have air! - lol Thanks for the tale! GT - JBOTDS! EZ  | ||
| Blake |
Great Tale! Thanks Pang. | ||
| Henrik |
Funny story - thanks. Henrik | ||
| Dino |
Two suggestions: 1. ALWAYS carry a plug kit. 2. Avoid doing 90 mph w/ low tire pressure...bad combination. | ||
| Pangalactic |
I read you loud and clear...it was one of the few times the ambulance was going that fast...they usually kept it around 70. It didn't matter...I was sweatin' bullets the whole time anyway. | ||
| Chainsaw |
I have felt you pain brother! Thanks for sharing. It's always good to know that my occasional bad mojo is not ChainSaw exclusive. |
