Running Out of Gas
Just a photo illustration of the idea of being out there far from anywhere with the bike not running.
I ran out of gas on my way to work the other morning. I don’t know about you but that just seems to happen to me periodically. With no gas gauge on the CB750, just reserve, you never really know how low you are.
It wasn’t the first time.
This time around I had been riding in the hills the day before with the guys and switched over to reserve. I have a fair idea how far I can go once I switch to reserve and I calculated that I could get home and then get over to where I like to gas up on my way to work the next morning. I was heading west on Hampden just west of University when I learned that that estimate was wrong. I came sputtering to a stop at Gilpin. Don’t you just hate when that happens?
I was fortunate in this case. I rolled the bike a long block or so to where Old Hampden diverges from the main road and from there I just coasted down to the station I knew was nearby. I probably only lost 10, maybe 15 minutes in the whole thing and wasn’t even late to work.
But how many other times have I done something like this? I make fun of some of my friends because they freak out about gas when they’re just getting close to going to reserve. They never actually go to reserve if they can help it. I figure that’s what reserve is for; you hit the point where you need to flip that lever and then you start looking around for a station.
Sometimes I misjudge.
I think the first time I ran out of gas on a bike–it was the CB; that’s the first bike I ever owned and which I still own–I was out running around with a young lady I had designs on and apparently I had forgotten to flip back off reserve when I had filled up last. So I was expecting to need to go to reserve but then when the bike finally started sputtering I found the lever in the wrong position and the tank completely dry. We had a good walk that day. Nothing ever developed in that relationship.
There was another time when I was on the Concours with my wife and we had been out riding with a bunch of folks. Everyone parted ways down in Colorado Springs and we headed back to Denver on CO 83. Everyone else had gotten gas back in Florence but I didn’t fill up because the Kawi holds 7.5 gallons and I knew (I just knew!) I had enough to get home. Oops.
We were just a couple miles south of Franktown when we coasted to a stop in front of a farm house. It took some knocking but someone finally answered the door and they said yes, they did have some gas. We would need to push the bike all the way around the back of the house, up a bit of a hill, to where they had a tank. Shucks, I figured if we could just put a pint in an old coffee can that would be fine to get on to Franktown, but I didn’t want to argue–they didn’t seem exuberantly happy to be bothered by us. So we did, and paid them for a gallon and were on our way.
Another time Judy and I were on the Honda and I don’t remember how it was that we ran out but we did. We were somewhere up in Westminster or Commerce City and just came to a stop by the side of the road. Very quickly a guy in a car stopped and offered to help. He said he would take me to get gas. I got in and off we went and he explained that he was sort of a freelance roadway assistance program and he would sure appreciate anything I could give him for his help. Considering the situation I was glad to give him $20. He was glad to receive it.
Are those the only times? I don’t know; those are the only ones I can remember. Maybe my buddies aren’t so silly freaking out over getting near reserve. Maybe I should be a little more like them. Not a lot, mind you, but a little. I’ll bet it’s a long time before I run out again, though. It takes a while for memory to fade.
Biker Quote for Today
A motorcycle functions entirely in accordance with the laws of reason, and a study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself. — Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Tags: running out of gas
