Passes & Canyons Blog

Loading my Connie onto the tow truck.

I’ve thought for a long time that I ought to learn how to replace a tire on my motorcycle. Having a flat on the first day out of the annual OFMC trip seemed to offer the perfect opportunity. I had the bike towed to Eagle, where my friend Jungle Fuhrman would help me get moving again. Let’s do this job.

My initial intention was to tell Jungle I wanted to do the work myself and just have him give me directions. But he dove right in and I stood and watched closely. The first thing he did was remove the cotter pin from the rear axle. Then he demonstrated to me that I will never change the tire on my bike because the next step was to remove the bolt that the cotter pin held in place. The problem is that the bolt is recessed and in order to get to it you have to have a wrench with a lip that reaches down into the recess. Count me out right there.

So I watched. In order to fully access the various bolts it was necessary to remove the mufflers. That was simple enough, just comprising two bolts per muffler. Then Jungle worked the axle loose and extracted it from the left side. Here he was faced with a problem. He knew from working on his own Concours that he was not going to be able to get the wheel out from under the fender without doing one of two things. What he had done on his own bike, and what he made it clear he was prepared to with mine if I consented, was to cut the lower six inches or so off the rear fender. I didn’t like that idea so I declined to say “Sure, go ahead,” as I knew he wanted me to say.

That meant he also needed to remove the shaft housing where the rotation of the drive shaft is converted 90 degrees to power the rear wheel. That was a matter of removing four bolts and I was pleased to find it wasn’t that much effort. Now the wheel could be pulled out and we could go to work on the tire.

Jungle’s tire-changing tools are over at a friend’s house so we went there for that part of the work. I had seen this done often enough that there was nothing new here. The tire was pulled off and Jungle applied a patch. He put the tire back on the wheel and aired it up and . . . it still leaked. Off came the tire once again and now we went to another friend’s shop to get a tool to truly prepare the inner tire surface to take good hold of the patch. With a patch applied in a way that had to be good enough, the tire was remounted, aired, and . . . it still leaked.

Now Jungle was thinking that there must be some damage to the plies allowing air to pass through and out. Which meant the tire could not be saved. A plug might work, or it might not. But it would be better to replace it.

Of course, this really hurt considering that I had just bought that tire six days earlier and had only put 1,500 miles on it, but you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. Normally, getting a replacement tire in Eagle on a Saturday could have been simply out of the question, leaving me to get even further behind my friends and possibly ending my trip right there.

But this is where the amazing good fortune of having this occur just 55 miles from Eagle came into play. Jungle has a Concours just like mine so I figured he just might have a tire on hand. In fact he had two. One was a brand new tire that he had bought for another bike, but it was the right size. Only thing is it was bias ply and the Connie usually takes radials. Plus, that would mean mixing a radial front with a bias-ply rear. The other was an old tire off Jungle’s Concours. He and Willie do a lot of traveling and when the tires on the bike aren’t going to be good enough to last the entire trip he will put on new tires before the trip. Thus, he had a partially used, radial Avon tire of the right size. My tires were Dunlops so that meant mixing a Dunlop front with an Avon rear, but I figured that was the best bet.

So Jungle mounted up the Avon, got everything put back together, and I was in business! I was able to leave Eagle around 2 p.m. that afternoon and then had to do some hard riding to catch up with the guys, who had since gone on from Grand Junction to Marysvale, Utah. I arrived there around 9 p.m. and finally the OFMC was together and off on this year’s ride.

Just a word about Jungle. He’s a mechanic but doesn’t work out of a shop. He is an I-come-to-you mechanic, so if you’re in the Eagle area and need a motorcycle or auto mechanic, give him a call. He’s in the phone book.

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My Concours being winched onto the tow truck.

I had just had new tires put on my Concours on Sunday, in Columbus, Ohio, and I rode on home, arriving in Denver on Wednesday. And as I have mentioned previously, I got my first motorcycle speeding ticket less than 50 miles from home on that 17-day, 3,878-mile trip. On Friday I set out mid-afternoon with Brett and Randy, two of the OFMC, on our annual summer trip. We were to meet up with everyone else in Grand Junction. Jason was supposed to be riding with us but he was delayed so he would be along later.

Nearing Rifle, my bike started handling horribly. I was in the rear but I had to pull over immediately. It turned out my brand new rear tire was flat. Not a defect, as I later learned, but a puncture. I tried to put the bike on the side stand but with the tire flat the stand tipped it just past vertical, so it was inclined to topple over onto the right. To my consternation, it was totally impossible for me to rock the bike up onto the center stand. So I had no choice but to standd there holding the bike up until someone came along to help me.

Of course I figured the guys would notice I was not with them, would pull over to wait, and eventually they would come back to find me. But I just waited. Meanwhile, whenever a motorcycle came along on the highway I waved to them to help me. The first one went by without stopping and the second one did stop, though it was a tenth of a mile later before they could stop from 75 mph. As they walked back to me a guy in a pick-up stopped to help. He was a big, strong guy, but it was all the two of us could manage to get the bike onto the center stand. But we did, and I could finally do something else, like, oh, you know, call for assistance.

While I was standing there, though, I had thought about what to do and concluded my best bet was to try to reach my friends in Eagle, Willie and Jungle, to see if they could help me out. They have a Concours like mine and Jungle is a mechanic. This could be a good thing.

I called and spoke to Willie, who put me through to Jungle, and Jungle said sure, have the bike towed here and we’ll see what we can do. I called the AMA roadside assistance number and told them my situation and they said they’d check for tow services and call me back. While I was waiting, Jason came along. He was very surprised to find me standing there by the road, but by then all was taken care of and there was nothing he could do. What he did do was call Brett, who told him they were in Grand Junction. Where was he (Jason)?

“I’m here on the highway outside Rifle with Ken. He has a flat tire.” Oh. Brett said they had stopped and waited for me three times but I never caught up with them. Duh. Thanks guys.

So Jason went on and the tow truck took me back to Eagle. Jungle said it was too late to get started on the bike that night and Willie said I’d be staying with them. That was fine, and we had an enjoyable evening. The next morning Jungle and I got right on it, me watching him and asking questions so I could learn how to do this myself. Ha! Without theh proper tools I’m not doing this myself anytime.

First we tried patching the tire, but after two patches failed there were two options. Jungle had a new tire of the right size, but bias-ply. My Connie wants radials. He also had an old tire he had taken off his Concours when he was leaving on a trip that would have been too much for the tire. Rather than get new tires mid-trip, he started with new rubber. This tire was the right size and radial, but an Avon. My tires were Dunlops. No matter, the Avon went on.

I was finally on my way at 2 p.m. on Saturday, riding hard to meet up with the guys, who were now headed for Marysvale, Utah. I rolled in there around 9 p.m. and it was time for my vacation to begin. Oh, and although I had expected Brett and Randy to immediately come tell me something like, “Oh hey, we’re really sorry for being so stupid and not going back for you,” if fact, neither of them has ever said one word about it. Thanks guys. You’re real pals.

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