OSP's Mobile Snake Pit

[OneSickPsycho]

As soon as Drewpy email's me the pix, the fun shall begin...

[OneSickPsycho]

Fuck it... I'm done waiting for pictures... well... all the pictures...

[OneSickPsycho]

There will be cursing...

There will be inside jokes that aren't funny to you, but will be funny to some people who do read it.... Sorta like the title to my blog.

I will misspell stuff. It may happen often. I may just do it to dick with you.

Pictures are not here yet and I have no idea when they will be here... I was going to use them to illustrate this story, but I will upload them later and just dump them on here and you can match them up to the corresponding story. Sorta like choose your own adventure only you have no choice bitches.

The original post goes on www.twfix.com and anywhere else this ends up is just copied and pasted. If you are looking at this and not understanding some of it, or see some random ':someshit:' and don't know what that is... well, that's why.

I will do my best to recollect everything accurately and whatnot, but if I fuck something up... Fuck off. 4000+ miles on two wheels, plus another 1500 or so in a cage over the course of 9 days makes everything a little blurry, fuzzy, and confused...

Strap on your helmet, fasten your seatbelt, and hold on tight... It's going to be LONG. Hopefully it will be entertaining enough to read in it's entirety.

[OneSickPsycho]

The Sunday before I was set to leave was the day I got the Buell running again. I spent probably close to 35 hours over the weekend putting her back together, fixing some things I had fucked up, and getting her running.

You may recall that I crashed back in September and have been riding her illegally ever since, so I had to get her legal before leaving on this trip. Well considering that I just got the damn thing running a few days before I left and it still wasn't fully 100%, that wasn't happening. At this point I just wanted to have a machine that wouldn't fall apart on the highway and I accepted the risk of ending up stranded in the middle of nowhere because my bike had been impounded (if only I would have known).

Anyway, throughout the week I buttoned up the loose ends with the bike and got her squared away... even getting the chance to put about 100 test miles on her (to and from work, random jaunts after work, etc).

Thursday night I got all my stuff together, packed in the saddle bags (sorta), and loaded everything into my truck. My dad (who just retired and was visiting for the month) and I went up the road in front of some plumbing supply place where they had a decent hill for motorcycle loading (back the truck up to the hill, roll the bike directly into the back of the truck). It worked, but it would have been a major biznatch to unload. So my old man said he'd spend the time I was gone looking for a better hill for unloading.

After some brief , a bulletin on MySpace, and a few quick checks, I set the alarm on my phone for 2:30am and crashed out... around midnight.

[OneSickPsycho]

if you remember to turn them on.

3:17am... Wake up. FUCK!!! I set the damn alarm, looked at it about a dozen times to make sure, but never turned the fucking thing on. DAMNIT! Thank heavens I loaded everything the night before.

I jumped up, took a quick wizz, emptied the catbox, brushed my teeth, scratched The Bear's head and took off out the door. Estimated time - 3:40am.

Blasting down the highway trying to make time... about a half hour into it... FUCK! Forgot my rainsuit (if only my crystal ball had been worth a shit... read on). Turn around, go back home, grab rain suit, hit the road... again. Approximate time - 4:45am.

At this point I was haulin'... really makin' time. Figured out that my truck has a governor just over 95mph. Also figured out that I should have spent more time playing with the GPS I bought for this trip so I'd actually know how to use it well. I did manage to get Drewpy's grandparents place plugged into the thing and added Trip's place as a point of interest/waypoint along my route.

Nothing really interesting to report for the first part of the drive. Gas stations, McDonald's breakfast... then Georgia. Jesus. Georgia.

First thing's first, everyone in Georgia drives like maniacs. Fast. Damn fast. Cops outside of Atlanta were sparse, but cared. Cops within Atlanta were plentiful, but could give two shits and a fuck about how fast you were going.

One cop I saw slightly over the border in GA was sneaky as hell. I saw old dude coming towards me, and everyone slowed down. He turned around and began to head northbound. After a few miles I noticed him still behind me (probably 1/4 mile or so), but he wasn't after anyone... or so it seemed. People started blasting ass again and sure enough he comes from out of nowhere blowing by me at probably 110mph. A couple miles ahead he's got the guy who was in front of me earlier pulled over. My guess is he clocked us as he passed, but wanted to see if he could clock someone going even faster so he waited to decide who to pull over. Sneaky bastard.

Another interesting part about GA was a stretch of I75 near Macon that had these cool signs, "Share the Road Watch for Motorcycles". We need more of those around.

Remember how I talked about Atlanta cops not giving a fuck? Well, I made it into ATL around 10am. Rollin' in a 55 at like 85, I might as well have been going backwards with the way people were passing me. It was unreal. People were passing, cutting everyone off, and just randomly acting like retards... all the while cops were out AND clocking people. I am pretty sure that you have to break the sound barrier to get a speeding ticket in Atlanta. I am DAMN glad I didn't ride my bike through there.

One thing I noted when crossing the border into Tennessee is that it strangely smelled like pot there... not very good pot, but it was obvious that there was somethin' planted nearby.

Anyway, I got to Trip's place without incident, and got the bike unloaded into a gas station parking lot. The place had a near perfect hill/cliff thing out back that is great for loading/unloading bikes. It would have been nice to have a helper, but my fat ass was able to pull that bitch off without dropping the bike... not to say it wasn't close a couple times.

I stripped in the parking lot and changed into my leathers... all the while talknig to some redneck chick who was outside smoking a cigarette. I think she liked fat guys named Zach, but her single tooth kinda freaked me out... plus she was like 60. And, for the first time, I loaded up the bike with all my shit. Damn I had a lot of shit. Too much shit it seemed. Standing outside a gas station in 80+ degree weather trying to screw around with saddle bags I've never used, a sleeping bag that was ginormous, and all sorts of other random shit was not fun. And of course, I fucked it up and had to redo it like 3 times.

I finally got everything set up and drove my truck down to Trip's garage, making a quick pit stop to pick up Chewy from the leasing office of his apartment complex. They looked at me like I was a maniac (fat guy, full leathers, wanting a plastic doll... go figure). The chick was hot, so I took a picture of her with Chewy, dropped off my truck, and walked back to the gas station to officially head out. Damn that walk was LONG and HOT. Of course Trip has to live in the section of apartments furthest from the gas station. Pain in the ass... Pretty much the story of the trip.

Securing Chewy to the bars on my rig, I hop on, and we're off to the races. Going up the road and fumbling with my GPS through my tankbag was dumb. I fucked it up, couldn't read it anyway, and ended up spending way more time than I needed to in Knoxville. About three hours to be specific. Between unloading the truck, changing, loading/unloading/reloading the bike 27 times, walking to hell and back to pick up a plastic doll, and dicking around getting lost with my GPS... I was just happy to find my way out of that damn place.

Being on the road and on two wheels felt GREAT. The adventure had finally started. It's off to Drewpy's grandparents place in Kettering, OH.

Nothing especially eventful on the way up, bike ran great, I felt good, met a couple decent folks... nothing too exciting. I did hit some misty rain-like shit about 100 miles south of Lexington KY and pulled over to put on my rain suit. Rain suit over leathers was a MOTHERFUCKER lemme tell ya. Big pain in the ass. It did give me the chance to BS with some Harley guys and a small town KY guy.

Turns out the Harley guys were heading to Deal's Gap for the weekend and we exchanged road trip plans, talked bikes breifly... then they left. The local KY guy was fascinated by my bike being belt driven. He said, "I didn't know they made them like that" and left me with, "now you fellers be careful, now"... Well it was only me, but maybe given my girth he though I was smuggling some other guys under my rain suit... who knows.

I give Drewpy a quick call cause my GPS had gone dead and got some quick directions to the gas station near his grandparents house. On the road... again.

Finally rolled into Kettering just after 8pm. I stopped at the gas station and called Drewpy. Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Voicemail. Again. Again. So I texted him... multiple times. FINALLY after nearly 45 minutes he calls back. 'Sorry, I was out running errands, but I'm not too far away'. Whatever jerk, come meet me here.

While waiting I talked to some super drunk guy who drove up and wanted to know what color my bike was painted. 'Yeah pal, it's grey and black' I want to hurt someone.

Then some lady pulls up and says on her way inside, "I told my kids you were Evel Kneivel so do something for them." I did nothing, but if it would have been more easily accessible, I probably would have whipped out my dork and beat her about the head with it. 'Is that Evel enough for you slut?!'

So... around 9:15pm, Drewpy pulls up... recognize that time. It's only an hour or so AFTER I got into town. AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH! Who cares! It was just good to finally know somewhat of what was going on and good to see an old buddy. In his defense, it was DP's birthday and he was trying to celebrate with multiple sides of the family, say goodbye, AND meet up with my happy ass.

We get to the house and I meet Drewpy's grandparents. Gramps is one cool mofo and Grandma couldn't be any nicer. We BS'ed for a moment until I noticed my saddlebag was rubbing on the tire. 'Well we can't have that' was the general thought amongst the Peacocks, but I'll be honest... I didn't really care.

Off to Home Depot we go to pick up some steel bar stock and some random shit from Wal*Mart. We pitted at DP's mom's place to say goodbye and headed back to the elder Peacocks who were waiting to fabricate something. Some measuring, fiddling, cutting, grinding, riviting, and no cursing (obviously I didn't help) later... and now I had a sweet bracket to keep my saddlebags in check. Them boys sure are handy.

Birthday cake break! Turns out it was Nighthawk's birthday too (or close enough to celebrate). We eat some KFC, sing the song, eat some cash money ice cream cake... and go back to loading the bikes. Of course Gramps and NH are finished already, while DP and I still fuck around with our stuff.

It's getting really late. I finished up with my bike last.... got showered and layed down in bed. Fell asleep probably around 5am or so... up for more than 24 hours... Leaving at 6am to ride like 650 miles. Joy.

[OneSickPsycho]

So after like, I dunno, 17 seconds of sleep. I awake to the sound of muffled talking in the other room. I get up, slap on most of my gear and roll to the living room at DP's grandparents. I expect to see everyone just chillin', but nope... everyone's fully geared and ready to roll. They let me sleep in. How nice!

The rest of the day was sort of a blur... 650+ miles of riding over the course of like 16 hours can have that effect I guess. I just remember rolling down the highway watching Gramps ride like an absolute madman. Cutting off semi's, hammering down the lane at 90+, weaving in and out alll over the place. The man is insane... or he just doesn't give a fuck. Either way, I was sold.

We get off the slab onto route 50... where exactly, I don't know. We roll along through some fun little sweepers and along these back country roads through Indiana. Twas a real nice ride. Somewhere along the way we encountered a mess of garage sales... seriously, like for a 10 mile stretch, there was nothing but garage sales. In the midst of all that retardidity, we came upon like 6 deer crossing the road...

When I first saw the deer I only noticed one and thought it was just a big dog. When I realized it was a deer and bolting towards the road, I hit the brakes and noticed the other deer there with it. A couple had already made it across the road and the one I saw put on the brakes and reversed course. The others just sat there retarded. So I put my pipes to work, grabbing the clutch and blipping the throttle a couple times... they all took off. Score one for loud pipes.

We stopped at a Hardee's in some little town along the way... I think it was still Indiana, but it may have been IL. I'd check my receipts if it really mattered... Anywho, going inside to get a bite... rockin' full leathers... some jackass goes, "Oh, out for a ride today?"... 'nope jerkoff, I dress like this all the time.'

Gramps and I strike up this conversation with a guy who was standing there... I think he was a regional manager or some shit. He was taking pictures of the place and seemed to be evaluating the crew... Turns out dude just got rid of his 998... and got a 1098. Bastard. Drewpy gave him a TWFix card... we'll see if he shows.

A few other people start asking questions about Drewpy's bike... nevermind the piece of pure two wheeled sickness that looks like nothing else you've ever seen sitting right next to it... aka, my bike. Retards.

Back on the road, nothing extremely interesting. The road flattened and straightened out through IL so it was pretty boring. Drewpy and I broke a few speed limit laws (excessively) to keep sane... Gramps pulled over at some point in time and we all got separated. After a half hour or 45 minutes or something of dicking around, we were finally all together again and moving in the right direction.

The trip continued and started to get really boring... Never thought riding could get boring, and pretty much it didn't the rest of the trip... For whatever reason about halfway through things were getting stale. I blipped some little wheelies through some shitball towns and we stopped to eat Subway in one of them. We happened to find a sillhouette that offered a fun photo opportunity. We took it, saw some squids pass by, and continued on our way.

At this point I had completely lost track of time. I know we left at like 7am or something, but I do not recall any other times for the day. I do recall that the St. Louis Arch looked pretty good when passing at 90mph and across the street from the gas station on the west side of St. Louis there were some squidly homey G nuckas with bling bling bikes and girls with fat asses on the back.

Then things got interesting.

No more than 5 miles after that gas stop, my bike starts misfiring. The engine light comes on, it misses, then's fine.... repeat. It only happened a couple of times, but scared me so I pulled off... Of course, I was in the rear so everyone else kept going. From what I remember it was a chore for them to make it back to me.

Right off the highway I ended up in a parking lot. I'm engine retarded so the first thing I want to check is oil (didn't really dawn on me that my oil light never came on, but rather my engine light did). Pull the dipstick and it's dry. Holy shit! Easy fix right...

Wrong.

I just so happened to break down on the exit where there's a Harley dealer. Perfect. Once the gang all made it back around to me, I ran over to the dealer to pick up some oil. Unfortunately the place was closed, but there was a guy getting on his bike outside. I explained the situation and he said he worked there and there were other guys inside. I'd just have to wait until one of them came out.

Well, one of them came out and I went in. Stopped and harassed a sales guy who was closing on a bike deal and finally made it to the parts desk. After convincing the guy that I didn't break in through a window or something, I got four quarts of oil, discussed possible ring issues or bent valves, and went back across the street. Well, not before drooling over a blue/white DRZ-400SM they had - FUCKIN' MONEY.

Ok, $40 worth of oil, including some extra for later (in case it was burning a ton)... Start pouring it in and almost immediately... it starts overflowing. DAMNIT! I guess it's not oil! Why then would my dipstick be dry? Well, Nighthawk had an interesting observation... 'maybe the oil was probably still all up in the engine.' Hmm... I did just jump right off the fucker and pull the dipstick. Makes sense.

After draining some oil into a plastic bag, all over myself, and into the parking lot... we continued our journey.

The situtation with my bike running like ass continued to get worse. The more miles I logged the worse it got. I pulled over a couple times and finally just said, screw it. If it blows up at least I made it this far.

During one of those moments Nighthawk and I got separated from Drewpy and Gramps. Well, Gramps just hammered it probably to triple digits and DP couldn't help but follow. Thankfully NH stayed back with me as I nursed my bike down the road.

There was a lot of fucking around over the next few hours trying find everyone. We got together, then lost Drewpy, and finally figured out he was like 70 miles ahead of us and already at the campsite.

We encountered some interesting bugs that hit our face sheilds like baseballs and my bike continued to run like shit. The gas mileage was falling off greatly. I started off the trip getting like 50mpg, but ended the day around half that.

FINALLY we made it into camp around 12:30am or so... Pissed off and stupid, I decided to start ripping apart my bike on the spot. Drewpy was kind enough to set up my tent... strategically placed on top of mini-Mt Everest. Cooler heads finally prevailed however, so we decided to work on it first thing in the AM.

Drewpy managed to set his bike on some nice soft, gravely earth... and it fell over. Kinda one of those slow-motion things... Like 'ooooooooooooooh nooooooooooooo' *crash* He took it real well... actually didn't seem like he gave much of a fuck at all. Well, we were all extremely tired.

Before crashing out we decided to hit up the truck stop near the campsite to get a bite. Nighthawk let me ride his Beamer up the hill... very cool of him. We went into the truckstop, ordered a ridiculous amount of food, and BS'ed with a local about bikes... well, and tried to decide which ugly waitress was less ugly than the other. The one was a big ogre chick who said she used to be in beauty pagents (to be fair, her face wasn't terrible). And the other one was just beat up lookin. Meh, back to the camp to crash out.

As I layed down in the tent I realized a couple things. Number one, my one man tent was probably designed for one sub-200lb man. Second, Drewpy was a real nice guy for setting up my tent, but he set it up on the most unholy, uneven patch of land possible. Then I closed my eyes and was OUT.

[OneSickPsycho]

We wake up the next morning around 9am local time... Nighthawk talks about hearing some crazy loud snoring... I didn't hear it, musta been Drewpy.

The plan for the morning is to dick around with my bike to see if we can get it working. The night before we had various theories as to what was going on... Drewpy made a bunch of calls, mostly to Gasman and Psychochild (who started a thread)... Bad gas (water) and fuel filter were the top culprits.

Nighthawk and Gramps decide to continue on down the road and allow us to catch up later... Drewpy goes to Wally World to pick up an inline fuel filter and something to drain the gas into (baking pan).

We dick around with it, get the fuel drained and realize we need to remove the swingarm to get the fuel pump/filter assembly out... At this point I think we could hang the rear end from a tree in our site and remove the rear shock, allowing the swingarm to rotate down and hopefully providing enough clearance to pull it out...

As I am screwing around trying to get it apart with the ass end swinging and bouncing against the tree, Drewpy is on the horn with some guy Marko found off BadWeb (www.badweatherbikers.com - Buell forum) who is in Topeka... like 100 miles away or something... He's got tools and a place to crash if we need it... Very cool.

At this point we decide that the KOA campsite is not the best place in the world to be wrenching on a bike with limited tools and a site manager that keeps asking when we'll be out of there... So limp it to Topeka!

Now Eric seemed to think the problem was spark plugs so he called ahead to a bunch of auto parts places and found some for my bike. Along the way we stopped at an Oreilly's Auto Parts and picked up the plugs. Outside the joint there were some very rural locals... They ask us about our bikes and where we are from/going... after answering the questions, the one kid's like, "so you're riding across country or something." Umm.... yeah. Straight Deliverance... I was sorta scared.

We sat in the gas station we had been told to stop at and called Eric, the Buell guy. He lives closeby and heads over to meet us. It's at this point in time that I notice I have gas leaking from the pump... What do you know, I jacked it up putting it back in... Great.

Eric rolls up, and hobbles out of his truck. Apparently he just had surgery on a bunion... looked like it didn't feel good. We follow him back to his place and we start in on the spark plugs. What a pain in the ass those are when you don't drop the engine out...

We get the plugs swapped and Eric's girlfriend (wife?) hooks us up with stuff to drink and even cleans my face sheild... Very nice those two... She kept insisting we stay the night and eat something... I really hope he joins this site.

A quick couple laps around the block and everything seems ok... We load our shit, take a couple pics, BS for a minute (they learn some of the inner workings of OSP - and were slightly frightened, but utterly amused), and then we hit the road.

We didn't even get two blocks away and the problem starts over again... Fuck it. We WILL make it to Colorado Springs today.

Continuing down the road the problem continues to get worse and worse. Gas mileage is dropping due to leaking AND whatever the hell is going on with my bike. At one gas station looking under my bike I think I see the problem with leaky gas. It appears as though the mesh filter thing in the bottom of the fuel pump got caught up when I put it back together. It seems to be hanging out the bottom of the assembly. Sweet, that should be easy.

We continue on until my gas light comes on. We pull off into a little town called Abilene KS. In the Advanced Auto parking lot, I pull the pump out again... Shit. That wasn't the filter thing, it was one of the o-rings (just as Eric said it probably was). Of course now both o-rings are completely fucked and we are not going anywhere.

Drewpy is again on the phone with Psychochild and the angel that she is, she's again searching online for us for the nearest Harley/Buell dealer. 100miles to Witchita or 100 miles to Hays. At least Hays is on the way... How the fuck do we get there though?

I call my old man who opines that an o-ring is an o-ring and the auto parts place should have something that works. Either way I cannot help but think that this is the end of my trip. Nothing to do but get a hotel and crash out.

After fucking around trying to find a hotel, we did... about 1/4mi down the road...

Budget Lodge Inn - Abilene KS. Should have been called 'The Bates Motel'... It was old, beat up, scary, but had the softest bed in the world. We get situated and decide to get a bite to eat. Turns out Sonic is the only thing open...

The 16 year old girl didn't really know what to make of it when I told her that in my current state of mind I could use lots of drugs and she would be my hero if she could find us some. I told her even if she couldn't get us dope, it would be coolio if she just smoked us out. Apparently she was a good girl cause she looked at me like I was a total maniac (and Drewpy tried to hide his face) and said she didn't know of anywhere to get any. Whatever you lying whore.

We crash out sans recreational substances.

[OneSickPsycho]

I wake up early as hell to head to the auto parts place. I notice a sweet KTM supermoto chillin' in the parking lot and take this as a good sign. The guy behind the counter, who owns the SM, says they don't have any o-rings like what I need and he knows that Oreilly's next door doesn't either. He says he'll drive me down to Napa to see if they have it. Steve is one cool mofo! I hope he joins too!

Thank god, Napa has 'em! I only need two but buy four cause I'm not real confident that I won't fuck it up again. We get back, I install the new o-rings, put it some gas, and success! It was a huge morale booster that I no longer had shit leaking out of my bike... even though it still ran like ass.

We gather up our shit, eat Sonic breakfast (noticing a bunch of seedy looking motherfuckers that could have probably gotten us drugs had they been there the night before... damnit.), and we hit the road.

Limping, surging, sputtering, shitting... We make it to Hays KS and to the Harley Buell dealer... And of course, it's Monday so they're closed. I notice a couple of cars in the parking lot, but cannot see anybody inside. We get gas across the street, taking time out to get blessed by a Christian biker guy, and I head back over to the dealer while Drewpy checks out this Mongolian BBQ place...

As I pull into the parking lot the beat up truck out front is pulling out. I wave the guy down and ask him if he works at the dealer. Turns out he is a customer and just picked up a new bike that morning and was returning for his truck. He told me the owner's name and said I should look him up.

411 is my friend...

I call the number 411 provided and the owner's wife picks up the phone. She empathizes with my situation, but unfortunately her husband... and 'all of the other guys' went out for a long ride for the day... And of course, they (and everything else out there) is in BFE with no cell service. Damnit.

She says she'll call me back and sure enough, by the time I make it to the Mongloidian BBQ place, I have a voicemail. 'Can't get a hold of them, but I remembered my nephew didn't go with them... he's not answering, but I'll drive by his house.' Awesome.

Four heaping plates later (Drewpy's fat ass had like 6 plates), another call. Success! We are to meet them at the dealer in a half hour.

We chug on over to the dealer and camp out on the front step in the shade. We are there BS'ing for minute when a guy pounds on the window from the inside and motions around back. We pull around back and into their service entrance.

After unloading my shit, my man Kyle puts my bike on his lift. Through various BS'ing and whatnot (Kyle owns a Ducati and is a sportbiker all the way), he runs diagnostics on the bike and it's throwing like four error codes... engine temp sensor, exhaust valve sensor, O2 sensor and some other shit...

First thing's first, we put spec plugs into the bike (just to make sure) and put a new engine temp sensor... Well, that did nothing. We start noting the TPS seemed ok and after scratching our heads (and asses) for a minute, I get on the horn with Al from American Sportbike. He helps narrow it down for us considerably, "If it's throwing multiple codes either your ECM is shot, or more likely you've got an issue in the wire loom."

While Kyle's busy at work, Drewpy and I check out the 1125R they have as a demo bike in the back... pretty nifty. We also noted a turbocharged V-Rod and some rat bike chopper that was half built and rocked a 200 tire on the front. They also had this gnarley dirt tracker that looked mean as hell too. Neat shit.

We run through some numbers that my bike is throwing per his instructions and figure out that my AFV (average fuel value) is 149. "Holy crap, that's a record!" Not exactly the response I was hoping for from Al.

We try a new ECM, which helped, but without reseting the old ECM there was no way to know for sure. So we put the old ECM back in, reset the AFV and the TPS, and I test rode it. I noticed the bike was lacking in power, as it didn't want to lift the front tire through hard accelleration. Oh well, at least it's running better now... for now.

Approximately 6 hours from the time we pulled the bike into the shop, we hit the road again. Just like before, almost immediately on the highway, the bike starts running like ass. Motherfucker, I should have just bought that ECM... Screw it... onto Colorado Springs.

Hammering as best I could through Kansas my gas mileage continues to suffer. We were barely making it to the exits that had gas and I'm pretty sure we just got lucky a couple times. Unfortunately our luck was short lived as I noted we passed a cop going the opposite way... The good news is, we had slowed down. The bad news is, we were still doing 87 when the cop clocked us.

Now, I saw the cop when we passed him, but my mirror (note that it's singular) sucked balls and I couldn't see shit out of... therefore I didn't exactly see Drewpy get pulled over. I just noticed he wasn't around any more... Turning around I see DP pulled over about a half mile back... so of course, I pull over too (do the crime, do the time... my days of running from police are over). They putt up to meet me... then it hits me...

My bike has no title. I have no insurance (none needed in FL btw). My bike is technically not registered since I crashed it.

I immediately dismount and stand in front of my plate so the cop cannot run it. He exits the car and asks for my license and insurance. Florida license, Ohio insurance... doesn't even look twice. He goes back to the car. This is like the 3rd time I am thinking my trip is over... the first time I am expecting my shit to get impounded though.

Dude gets out of the car, has Drewpy sign his ticket, and approaches me... "so you were thinkin' about running were you?" 'No sir, my mirror just sucks.' "Let me take a look at your license plate real quick." *SHIT*

He jots down my plate number on the ticket and has me sign it. Drewpy's pleas for mercy go on deaf ears... and we head to the gas station. Really dodged a bullet with that one... First time I think I've ever been happy to get a ticket.

As we progress down the road my bike's health continues to decay beneath me. We finally arrive in Liman, CO and I make the decision that we cannot risk going any further... Hell, it's midnight and the rest of the way to Colorado Springs is via backroads.

We sit outside the gas station and opine about what our options are. This was the first time that I noticed Drewpy being noticeably frustrated with the situation. I tried to keep it light, but I could tell that he was not a happy camper.

All seemed to subside once we got a little gas station nurishment into our gullets. We talked to a couple who were heading to Colorado Springs and DP had the idea to have them follow us, but at that point I didn't want to fuck up anyone else's journey... so we played with their weiner dog and let them leave.

We did a fair amount of dicking off and BS'ing at that gas station... with some people watching too. Some chick went inside wearing some little shorts and a t-shirt... came out in jeans and a different t-shirt... it was Clark Kent into Superman fast... which was sorta funny.

The biggest source of humor were these two guys in a pickup truck... They had all these tarps and shit in the back, and were fucking around with stuff underneath them... being very secretive, sneaky like. At that very moment, a car pulls in with it's belts hissing and squeeling... DP perks right up and says, "what the hell is that, a mobile snake pit?" We both kinda look at eachother realizing how retarded that was and completely lost it. Hey, when you're that tired, that burnt out, and half stupid to begin with... shit like that is HILARIOUS. It really helped ease the tension that was brewing.

The decision was made and luckily we were right across the street from another shitball hotel (not nearly as shitty as the last one though). We ask for a room on the first floor close to the door... the little asian lady says, "no, no, you here" pointing to the map of the hotel. Of course that means "stuipd fat lazy Americans, you sleep upstairs far away from the door." Literally, the furthest room away from the front door. Bitch.

[OneSickPsycho]

Ok, so it really didn't die completely, but just read on jerks...

We wake up at like 6:30am. Damnit Drewpy has the most annoying alarm on his phone... it seriously made me want to bite the heads of kittens.

We get up, throw our stinky leathers back on, load the bikes, and hit the road. The night before, Drewpy was on the horn with Psychochild getting directions to the Harley-Buell dealers in Colorado Springs.

Long story short, my bike was running REALLY bad for this final 70 miles. It was running so rich that we could smell gas coming out of the exhaust. There were points in time in which I couldn't shift gears because the change in RPM would cause the bike to nearly stall. Uphill sections we rolled along at like 35mph (in a 65) and some downhill sections we managed to nearly hit the speed limit. It BLEW.

Finally I made the decision that I needed to get more air into the system, otherwise I wasn't going to make it. I pulled over and removed the airbox completely, just running straight air filter. It helped slightly, but the thin mountain air combined with an ECM that thought it constantly needed more fuel proved to be a terrible combination.

Maybe Drewpy counted, but I didn't... just how many times did I run out of gas? Who fucking knows. All I know is I started the trip doing 50 or more miles per gallon and by the time I made it to the first dealership in CO Springs, I was probably doing about 8mpg... and the bike was PISSED.

We make it to Colorado Springs Harley Davidson! Only three hours after we left! (70 miles in 3 hours )Woo Hoo! Walk up to the service guy and start to explain the situation... "oh, we stopped doing Buells a couple months ago... You'll have to go to Pike's Peak HD across town." Recognize that if this had occurred 5 years or so ago, I would have simply gone into my saddle bag, got out the .40 and unloaded a magazine into this motherfucker. That's probably why I didn't buy a gun back then.

He gives us directions and we blub across town to the other dealer. I walk inside and am greeted by a cute, bubbly, redheaded sales girl and explain my situation (you know by this time I was REAL fucking sick of telling the story). I hook up with the service department and they agree to squeeze me in.

Drewpy and I sit around there with our thumbs up our asses talking to different people and he notices this 954RR just chillin' there. He asks Danica (the sales girl) if it's for sale and she says it is. Of course now Drewpy, who's all about spending other people's money (aren't we all) is trying to talk me into buying it... "Dude, it's got Vortex rearsets, full Micron exhaust, probably a Power Commander, stainless brake lines, etc, etc." Whatever, it's an RR and I'm a streetfighter guy... polished, pretty, and perfect is just not me. Ugly, gnarley, and beat up... is.

Throughout the time at the dealer as the techs are scratching their heads trying to figure this thing out, we meet some pretty cool people. Cody, a sales guy, is an ex-racer, a wise-ass, and has some funny stories. That motherfucker BETTER join. Ned was a guy who rode up on one of those KTM adventure tourers and gave Drewpy some good roads to check out on our way through Arkansas. It'd be cool to see that guy here too.

Anyway, the day wears on and no luck with the bike. The realization that it is probably something in the wiring brings about the brutal fact that I'm probably not riding it out of Colorado Springs that day... or any day in the relatively near future. Could be found in 10 minutes, could take 40 hours.

As the reality of the situation sinks in, the 954 seems like more and more of a realistic option. I don't really have the money for that shit, but I don't fear debt so fuck it. We talk to the sales manager... get him to offer us the bike at what he had in it (trade in he gave the previous owner and maintenance - tires). An '02 with only 2,600 miles on it... not bad, but I hate these bikes. Especially one where the previous owner was obviously a parking lot queen who put all this high end shit on it and never rode it. Plus, it has red carbon fiber all over it, and the douchenozzle plained his name next to the windscreen.

Let's give the techs more time.

Well, at $89/hr you only have so much time before it stops being worth it. For me, that was the 4 hour mark. 'Go ahead and stop working on the bike, I'll make arrangements to have it picked up.' Combined with the fact that I knew I really could not rationalize buying a new bike, the sinking feeling that my trip was coming to an end burned a hole right through me. I think I might vomit.

Looking for some sage advice I called my father. The only thing that I really heard when we spoke was, "remember, a bad day on a motorcycle trip is better than a good day at work." I was beginning to wonder.

I called my uncle just outside of Denver and he agreed to come pick me and my heap up. I told Drewpy that this was it and I was going home... he should go ahead and go on to Alberquerque. For whatever reason, he didn't.

Couldn't have been 20 minutes later... Rick, one of the sales guys comes to me and says, "I think we could take your bike on trade for that Honda." Been there, thought of that... 'Dude, it's a salvage bike, I have no title with me, and no registration either.' "I think we still might be able to do it."

He goes and talks to a few people and they give me the lowdown on what they can do. They can trade in the bike without any of that shit (cause they really felt for me I suppose), but can only give me half of NADA. Well, once I got the insurance money and whatnot, I really didn't have much in the thing... despite the fact that I just spent a bunch of money fixing it up. First, they say they could do $2600, but they wanted to talk to their broker to see if they could get more for me. The broker must have told them they were retarded cause he said no more than $2k. I should have just said yes to the first offer.

Ugh...

I call my uncle... "I'm glad you haven't left yet... I'm buying a new bike."

I'll be honest, it's a pretty sick feeling when you give up a machine that you've put so much blood, sweat, and tears into... for something that you really don't like. I was honestly queezy as I sat there signing the papers. Fuck it. That's the price you pay if you want to finish your cross country motorcycle trip I guess.

Now I am the proud owner of a 2002 Honda 954RR and another monthly payment.

We are literally the last people out of the dealer. We are loading up our bikes as the last guy drives off the lot. A guy on a Victory and his kid on an old ZX11 pull up just as we're getting ready to leave. We tell them our story and where we are headed, and they offer to escort us out of town through some semi-twisty roads. I don't remember if we gave them TWFix cards or not.

As I pull out of the lot... and stall... I realize that I didn't even bother to test ride the bike before buying it. Have I said, 'Fuck It' yet? Cause it's fitting for pretty much most of the decisions I made throughout this trip.

We end up at this little Mexican restaurant just outside CO Springs around 8:30 or so. Food was good, decor was... interesting, and we struck up a conversation with a guy at another table. Turns out dude was a cop and he knew the roads we were about to go on. He discouraged us greatly for a number of reasons... one was a lack of gas stations that would be open late. Another was because the one town was particularly seedy. 'Well, we aren't completely defenseless', Drewpy said. "Let's put it this way, I'm law enforcement and I wouldn't go there at night."

Great. 'Well where should we go?' "About 50 miles back to CO Springs and get on the highway." Jesus fucking Christ.

So of course, after debating back and forth over the course of action for a half hour or so, we decide to hit the highway and catch up with Nighthawk and Gramps. Turns out, they hadn't made it to Alberquerque either and were in Las Vegas... Not the good Las Vegas... the shitball one in New Mexico... and that's where we were headed as well.

We hit the highway, tired, semi-delirious, and pumped up on energy drinks. We blast away having a little liter-bike triple digit fun along the way... Just outside of New Mexico we start experiencing severe wind gusts. Nothing like we've ever seen before.

Gusts were in the 40-50mph range. They would hit hard and without warning, sometimes pushing you completely into the other lane. Temps dropped and the gusts got more and more consistent. We pushed ahead to Trinidad CO, pulling over to take a break.

Thank god we didn't need gas, cause it was just after midnight and this town was turned off. Completely. We noted that our bikes had chicken strips in the middle of the tires from being leaned over so far while riding straight. It was crazy, but made for cool pictures.

Speaking of crazy, while at this gas station two cars pull up next to eachother beside the building... looked like your standard drug deal. I go to the otherside of the building to take a wizz... no sooner had I zipped up my fly, then a cop drives right in front of me from the backside of the building. I scramble around front and the drug transaction ends and everyone drives off in separate directions... cops included.

We continue on our journey down into New Mexico... The highway starts to weave between rock formations and has some big sweeping curves... It' being late as hell and in the middle of nowhere, we start turning up the heat a little bit and start running race lines across all three lanes of the highway. Pretty fun, but the dead elk smeared across the roadway and the numerous signs warning of elk on the road gave it a slightly ominous undertone.

At 4:30am we arrive in Las Vegas NM. Worn down, totally spaced out, and near the point of hallucinations (exhaustion + stress + cold + high speeds = massive mind games). We pull up to the Super 8 motel and park on the other side of the entrance, with Nighhawk and Gramps' rigs on the other side. Drewpy goes in and finds out they are in room 204... of course, upstairs. We haul all of our shit up as quietly as possible, I take the floor, Drewpy takes the 3rd bed. I remember thinking that the room was ridiculously hot, then ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz....

[OneSickPsycho]

After a solid 3 hours of sleep, we wake up, get showered, and load all of our shit... again. By this time I we were getting REALLY proficient with loading the bikes. Everything had it's place and went together pretty quickly.

We roll next door to the little Mexican dive restraurant that looks like something straight out of a Quentin Tarantino movie... From Dusk Till Dawn meets Pulp Fiction.

Everyone orders and Gramps saunters in just after... As she brings us the drinks she asks Gramps, 'and what will you be having?'... "Can I have a chance to look at the menu?" he snaps. The waitress was a little taken back, but handled it well... This man is my hero.

Now, I love Mexican food... probably to a fault. I had eaten it the night before and now I order some breakfast chimichunga or something... that's covered with 'the hot' sauce. Hot enough that it gave me the hiccups... and that's HOT. It was very tasty, but it probably meant I would shit myself before making it to Oklahoma City. At this point I didn't care.

The ride to Oklahoma city wasn't particularly exciting, but some of the pit stops made it pretty neat. New Mexico is probably on of the prettiest places you could ever see, but just like in the movies everything is run down, old, broken, and decayed.

We pull off onto old Route 66 to get gas... I hadn't realized that this historic highway was pretty much no more... It had been left to errode after the interestate highway was built, so it seemed. The road would go for a little while, half covered with dust, sand, and dirt... then there would be nothing... no road, just open land. Pretty eery.

So anyway, the gas station we stopped at was in Cuervo NM and it was appropriately named, 'Cuervo Gas'. Hey, I think I had that one time at the bar and vomited all over some people... but I digress...

The pump was marked... no shit, 82 octane. Hello! We're on high performance race machines that call for 93+! 'There's no way I'm getting gas here', Drewpy demands. I agree... Nearest gas station is only 8 miles up the road... we'll try it.

We roll into a slightly less shitty gas station up the road. Of course they don't have premium, but it's at least 87. We end up going inside and finding they had ONE bottle of octane booster buried on a shelf and covered with dust. Success! We fill up, fuck with these roosters that were chillin', and decide to take a picture of eachother next to the 'historic route 66' sign... As I stand next to the sign, I notice a sticker on the pole... '$parechange'... What are the odds? That's a sticker from a highschool buddy's band.

A couple of pictures and some dicking around with these stupid chickens, then we're on the road.

Making it into Texas, we stop at another filling station. Place was in the middle of nowhere and had some strange shit for sale inside... Releasing the fluids in the bathroom, we notice big papers hanging from the walls in front of each toilet that say, "Tell Us About Your Trip"... A lot of 'Jones family heading to Austin' and 'Bob Smith relocating to CA'... so I put ours up there just for grins.

Continue the journey into and through Oklahoma City... set up shop at a Super 8 in Shawnee, OK. No way am I sleeping on the floor again, so I decide to splurge to get a room, but first... Denny's!

Denny's, then bed... nothing especially exciting...