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DAY
TWENTY-EIGHT COMMENTARY
People, I'm
not gonna lie to you: this is going to be a long one.
Despite
not getting to bed as early as I had wished the night before --
thanks to the Wet Knapsack Syndrome -- I was up at 5:30 AM. Or
whenever it was. That's what it said on my clock, but I had no idea
what time it
truly was. Cool part is, it doesn’t really matter,
does it? I'll be going where ever I'm going regardless of what time
it is when I leave. Oops, almost forgot to mention: 'twas a
relatively chilly 53
degrees when I awoke!
Having
slept in the bivy, I didn't have too much to tear down and pack up,
so it made for a pretty quick departure. I had kept most of the junk
that I had planned to put in the knapsack within close proximity
inside the trailer the night before, so I figured I'd get out of
there, get gas, and pack everything into the knapsack when I got to
the start of the BLM road to Toroweap. I mean, maybe one of the
rangers at the station would eyeball the trailer and opine that I'd
make it without a problem, right? Then I wouldn't need to pack the
knapsack at all? Yeah, well, unlikely, but hey, there's nothing wrong
with getting a quick start regardless.
Just to be safe, I checked the
tire pressures (remember that -- Ed.) and they
were
fine. So I roared out of there,
faced no traffic I
couldn't handle on the road back up to Jacob Lake, then turned west
onto Route 89A. At the first gas station thirty miles later, in
Fredonia, I thought I might as well fill up, even at $4.299 a gallon,
'cuz it might be even more expensive closer to where ever the BLM
road was. As it turns out, I was wrong, because I could have paid
$4.019 some eight miles later, and that’s a big delta. Too big.
Yep, I had fallen for the ol' “First Gas Station In Town” trick yet
again!
Overpaying
for the go juice, however, was to be the least of my problems this
morning. Instead, we had a near-DISASTRO. How so, The Chief (tm),
dost thou asketh?
People,
take a picture of this. There I am, having fueled up, having
purchased some more trail mix and a Red Bull or two. Rig is still
sitting at the pump where I left it. Approaching it from behind, my
cell phone rings. A bit of a surprise -- signal strength had been
spotty in the area, so truth is I shouldn't have even had the thing
turned on anyway in the first place. Regardless, it's my main man
Sammy Cods checking in and, as we're chatting, my gaze falls upon the
small portion of the bike's rear tire that I can see between the
bottom of the trailer hitch and the ground. It's maybe a twenty or
twenty-five degree slice of the entire circumference of the tread.
Not much of the whole circle, right? But you know what is clearly
visible, plain as day, on that small slice? About a five-inch long
patch where,
as far as I can tell,
the tire is worn out right
down
to the cord.
Um,
hello? What in the world is that all
about? So I tell Sammy that I gots to go 'cuz I have to inspect this
issue right away. As the phone clicks shut and I'm now close enough
to the tire to see for sure, my fears are realized: there is, in
fact, a scar on the tire where it looks like it has been worn away,
perhaps in a skid, and so the exposed part is missing entire layers
of
rubber.
How
do they say it goes? Something like disbelief, then anger, then
denial, then whatever, and whatever? I think that describes me
perfectly: I can't really imagine how
this might have happened. Remember when I said I
had checked the tire
pressures? I had, but then that doesn't mean I was able to eyeball
the tire's entire circumference; the bike was on its sidestand, so I
couldn't spin the rear wheel, as I might have done if the bike was on
the centerstand. Meanwhile, the tire was relatively new, as I had
changed it not terribly long before leaving the Boston area. Sure, I
may have put about 6,000 miles on it since then, and between the
trailer tongue weight and the stuff in the saddle- and tailbags,
perhaps the rough equivalent of the weight of a passenger as well, at
least for this trip. But would that make it wear out almost twice as
fast as it otherwise would?
Waitaminnit.
It's not merely worn out, as if it has simply reached the end of its
service
life, it's patched
out
in a specific spot. In fact, the rest of the tread looks
fine. Only one way this could have happened -- if I locked up the
brakes and dragged the rear tire. Considering that I've got a trailer
hooked up, this would have been, y'know, a fairly exciting event;
you'd think I would remember doing something like that,
wouldn't you? OK, so
did I do something like that?
Well,
yeah, I did -- eleven days ago in Pecos,
TX, approaching Alfredo's Restaurant. I definitely did lock
up
the rear tire on some sand in front of the restaurant's parking lot,
but it sure
hadn't seemed all that bad at the time; maybe a half-second, maybe a
full second, max? At maybe 30 MPH? A little quick math suggests it
would have been nearly 45 feet, but I know I didn't have
the rear locked up for some five or six bike lengths. Wouldn't have
thought such an
innocuous little skid would do this, but what other explanation is
there?
OK,
so now I'm trying to
figure out what is more scary: what might have happened if I had
taken the bike, and that tire, out on the 60-mile long gravel road to
Toroweap, or the fact that I've apparently been driving on the tire,
in its current condition, in this heat, for the past 2,382.5 miles.
I
don't permit myself to decide which of those is more scary.
Fact
is, I don't have the time. I've got to decide what to do,
and
how to go about it. No way I'm going to Toroweap; that much is clear.
It would have been bad enough to have gone out there before I knew
the tire was corded; go out now, and I've locked up the 2008 Darwin
Award.
That
doesn't answer the question, though: how do I get this thing fixed?
Even
if there are any motorcycle
shops around here -- even any Honda shops
-- there's almost no doubt that they won't have my tire in stock,
given that the bike is now fourteen years old and that the size is
somewhat obsolete these days. I could order it from the on-line
supplier I've bought these tires from in the past, and I know they have
it
in stock, but it's Friday, which means even if I can get it to ship
out today, it might not be getting any closer to me on Saturday, and
definitely no closer on Sunday, so how do I plan for that? Ship it
here? Can I stay here for several days? Maybe. Or can I make it
fifty, perhaps a hundred miles on the damaged tire? If so, I could ship
the replacement to
somewhere else, and at least be in motion while the tire is working
its way towards me. Or, maybe a dealer can get it in even faster,
because they can put their own internal rush on it without me having
to foot the bill for the expedited shipping. OK, that's sounds like a
decent idea -- see who can get it the fastest, is it faster (and
cheaper) than what the supplier can do, and, if so, where they are
located.
Lemme call the Honda Rider's Club of America
to try and find some dealers out
around here -- they've done a bang-up job for me in the past with
free towing services.
Oddly,
the HRCA is rather poorly set-up to find dealerships close to where a
caller is located. The guy -- who is genuinely trying to be helpful
-- is asking me for area codes and stuff, as if he's looking it up in
a phone book. How the hell should I know what the area code is for
some tiny town a hundred miles away? At any rate, wouldn't you think
that the HRCA should have a better way to locate its own dealers? I
mean, the Honda Powersports website lets you type in a zip code, and
then pulls up the closest dealers, sorted by mileage. Can't this guy do
that from his desk?
Apparently,
no.
Still,
eventually I am given
a few options, and I've got to think about
them. There's a dealership about 75 miles away in St. George, UT; a
non-Honda dealership further away in Utah; and another Honda place in
Page, AZ (NOT “Page, OK” -- Ed.),
back past the
Grand Canyon and about 80 miles away. The place the furthest away, in
Utah, can get the tire the fastest, but can I make it there? And
it's not a Honda dealership, for what that's worth. St. George sounds
OK, but they don't think they can get the tire all that quickly. The
technician on the other end of the line in Page does a lot of legwork
for
me, and calls me back twice
with updates and options. In the meantime, I learn that there is one
more (non-Honda) dealership in the next town, Kanab, Utah, just a few
miles away. The likelihood that they've got the tire is low, but I
can at least make it eight miles to check, and maybe they'll be able
to pull something off. I tell the Honda guy in Page that I will let
him know what I'm doing one way or the other, and point the
now-hobbled rig to the north.
Did
I mention that it's been three hours since I first
noticed the
blemish on the tire?
I
should also mention that, although, yes, I could have saved some
twenty cents per gallon had I gone a little further down the road,
this gas station (Judd's Auto Service, 623 South Main, Fredonia AZ) has
been an absolute godsend. One, the gal behind
the counter definitely knows about the local mechanics shops and has
been helpful with all information. Two, they make pretty good coffee.
Three -- and file under “Another Thing You Just Don't See Back
East” -- they sell guns,
both rifles and pistols, including a line
from a manufacturer
I had not been aware of.
Aforementioned
now-hobbled rig heading mostly north, I make it to Kanab. I'm
nervous, but I make it. The dealership is a Yamaha joint, but they're
not too worried about being able to do the tire change, mainly
because I've got the real-deal Honda shop manual. Thing is, the
suppliers they work with apparently don't have that tire size in
stock, and it could take a while. Ah, that leaves me back where I
started, but then it hits me: what if I can have the bike and
the
trailer towed to the next
town, via the free towing services offered as part of my HRCA
membership?
Back on the horn. "Can [the towing company] take the bike all the way over to Page?
Yes? Great." This
isn't really a surprise, since
as it's almost the
closest dealer it's no problem.
Now, friends, here comes The Biggie:
"Um,
can [they] take the trailer
as well?"
As
Marv Albert would say, “Yes-s-s!"
They
can! WE HAVE A WINNER.
HRCA
asks if the bike is disabled, but I tell 'em it is not and that I
can easily and safely bring it to the local towing company that will do
the deed. Local -- you want local?
The company's garage is literally one block away from
where I'm making the phone call. So I ooze over there and make
sure it's all gonna go down just like I need it to. Guy tells
me it might be
as many as three hours before we'll be leaving, because in fact
they're waiting for another motorcycle (!)
that they're scheduled to haul over to Page, but that's fine with me
as I'm starting to get hungry and I figure I can do some typing
while I wait. I call the motorcycle dealership back and tell them to
expect me before they close.
Right
in front of me there's a joint called “Laid-Back Larry's”, and
though I love the name and hand-painted banner/sign, it
turns out to
be a shade more coffee-shop-ish than I'm looking for. Back down the
block, though, I notice “Grandma Tina's Cafe”, and as the sign
says they've got free wi-fi, I figure it'll at least cover all the
bases.
That
assessment falls short of the truth. The truth is, the food is
fantastic, the Utah-brewed beers are fantastic (remember, I'm not
riding to
Page, so I could even
get bombed here if I so wished!) and, last but not least, my
host/server Curtis is off-the-charts friendly and cool. Salmon
sandwich
with yams on the side and three bottles of the beer all mesh with
website
updating in fine style. There's even a picture inside of another
intrepid traveler who ran
into some trouble
somewhere along the
line. I'm actually kind of bummed when my cell
phone rings and the towing company tells me they're ready to go,
about ninety minutes in advance of the original ETD...but if I
had
had another ninety minutes in there, no telling what shape I'd have
found myself in!
(While
I'm at it, I should mention I'm also feeling bummed that I couldn't
have had the tire work done right here in the Kanab, UT/Fredonia, AZ
area; there are enough cute little cafes and other funny or historical
things
that could have
supported an overnight or two. Even so, as that may just be the beer
talking, we shouldn't forget that the issue has cost me not only the
Toroweap stay, but will prevent me from enjoying a highly-anticipated
two night stay at the campground near Havasupai Village further west.
This
was to feature an 11-mile horseback ride to the site and completely
unimproved tent sites -- no electricity, no commodes, no water,
nothing; nothing but the incredible beauty of the waterfalls and other natural
sights. Missing the two most special camping-related destinations scheduled on the
trip -- now THAT'S a bummer.)
Walking
back across the street, I see the motorcycle that we've been waiting
for before we could leave. It's a newer Honda Gold Wing -- the real
luxo ride -- and it too has a trailer
with it! Are they gonna be able
to fit two
large motorcycles and two
trailers onto their rig? Well,
yes they are, as we'll be using a pretty darned big trailer, and
getting down the road won't be a problem since we'll be pulling it
with a gigantic full-size four-door Dodge pickup.
Loaded up! And time for a free ride to Page, Arizona. Website-wise, I
wonder if I should log this as “time & miles traveled”, or
not? (Who cares -- Ed.)
Anyway, I enjoy chatting with Dave & Terri, the very nice
couple traveling on the Gold Wing, and hearing about the comfort of
traveling on that ride and their experiences with the trailer and so
on. I am saddened, however, when they tell me that the charge they're
facing for the towing services will be four hundred and
twenty-one
dollars. I
don't want to upset
the guy any further, but I ask if he knows of the Honda Rider's Club
of America, my membership in which means that my
cost
for the tow is going to be -- take a deep breath, people -- NOTHING.
As in “nothing”, zero, zip, nada, etc. The cost of the tow for me
is completely covered by my membership. Turns out Dave definitely
does know of the HRCA, and is sheepishly forced to admit that he had
just recently decided not to
renew his coverage, which runs $35 a year. He'd never used the
services, took a look at it, and decided not to send in the $35,
which now turns out to have been a $376 error in judgment that he
really couldn't have foreseen. Again, I/we are bummed, but the way he
explains his thought process -- which would have been exactly the way
I'd have looked at it -- I like the guy even more.
The
trip to Page is as informative as it is, on occasion, utterly
terrifying. Informative, because our driver
explains that the
mannequin, dressed as a cop and sitting at the wheel of a police car
parked on the roadside,
is known locally as “Latex Larry”; that steers sell for beef at
16 months while cows first become pregnant at the age of one, give
birth at two, and are fertile for 10-12 years afterwards; and that
essentially all of the land we are traveling through is part of one
national park or another. Terrifying, because
although the guy
has experience with it and probably knows what he's doing, it is
nevertheless a bit unsettling to be going well above 80 MPH -- yes,
I've
been peeking at the speedometer -- on a narrow, undulating two lane
road, blowing by other cars in the oncoming travel lane as campers and
trucks loom ever closer up ahead of us. And we're towing a
twenty-five foot trailer,
fer
Chrissakes!
I'm trying to stay cool in the passenger seat,
but
I don't even need to look to know that Dave & Terri are
absolutely not down with it. And in the end, although we make it to
Page (1) alive and (2) well ahead of ETA, the speeds it took to do so
have had direct cost to The Chief (tm). You see, not expecting to
have set the land speed record during the trip, I guess I didn't
think I'd have needed to seriously crank down the waterproof rain
cover that had been on the motorcycle's tank bag. And although I can't
have known it at the time,
somewhere along the way it has blown off, along with the two
newspapers I'd been storing underneath the bag itself -- including the
Knoxville paper from way back on Day Three -- and the
pair of red, lighter-weight riding gloves I had enjoyed rotating into
when the temperatures climbed. Although somewhat less protective than
the blue, full-racing Alpinestars SP-1 gloves I typically wear with the
leather jacket, the red ones were very comfy, easy to put on and take off --
although the Velcro straps go in the opposite direction as on the
SP-1's -- and easy to manipulate the camera while wearing. Damn! A
stupid, frustrating, and wholly unnecessary loss.
At
any rate, the road into Page crosses over the chasm in which the Glen
Canyon Dam is located, a giant hunk of concrete only a few
feet
shorter in height than the Hoover Dam, and which I will definitely
try to visit. I stick the camera out the window and manage to get a
fairly good photo
or two, considering that the truck is still moving
and that the shots are completely un-aimed.
Just on the other side of town,
we reach Page
Honda.
For
whatever reason, something about the way they are arranged soon makes
it clear that it will be much more difficult, if not impossible, to offload the
motorcycle trailers (from the big trailer) than it was to load them on in the
first place. No one present can quite figure out how this can be
possible, but the quandry is aptly dispatched via a
generous application of forklift
(note: could take a moment to load).
With respect to the bikes, I have
to paddle mine off backwards, requiring a bit of assistance with
lateral stabilization for the brief, but tricky stint on the
trailer's ramp itself. As I get it down on to the pavement, I wonder
how hard it's gonna be for Dave to paddle his 900+ lb. Gold Wing
backwards, with a flat rear tire, until I remember: since way back in
1994, the Gold Wings have had an electrically-driven reverse
gear
to aid in rearward maneuvering. Flat tire or not, he's got no problem
backing up the thing.
After
meeting up with the tech who had gone above and beyond in
getting the tire ordered for me, and making sure the arrangements
seem adequate, my attention must now turn to accommodations.
Remember, I hadn't planned on being here, so I have no intel on
motels or campgrounds or anything at all. Terri has
apparently already jump-started the process for her and Dave, but for a
cross-country traveler with a budget in mind (me), it's not looking too
good: all of the low-cost motels are sold out, and even just a
handful of real high-end rooms remain. With little else in the way of
options, I check literally right next door with the Page/Lake Powell
Campground & RV Park. Immediately it is clear that we have a
winner: the fully-equipped property has availability and gives
an AAA discount! The kicker is that I'll now have three straight days
without having to break down, move, and set up camp -- truly a
vacation within a vacation! What does one do with that much time?
Check back in and find out!
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