Passes & Canyons Blog

Take a good look at this photo. It tells the whole story.

“We’ve got a diesel truck running out there.”

Those are not the words you generally want to hear about your motorcycle. Dennis was ecstatic.

We’ll start at the beginning.

We stopped for gas in Livingston, Montana, at a big station where the pumps in front were all busy. So we went around back and filled up. Then we headed west on I-90, destination Missoula. But right from the start Dennis could tell the big Indian wasn’t running properly. Bill, just behind Dennis, smelled something that puzzled him.

After about 60 miles Dennis decided to pull off at another station. He figured he had gotten some bad gas and that adding some good gas would dilute the bad. But after he filled the tank the bike would not start at all. It wouldn’t even turn over.

Maybe that bad gas had fouled the plugs. He didn’t have the tools to pull the plugs so Bill gave him a ride to the nearest town where he bought tools. Pulling the first plug it looked just fine. Now he was truly stumped.

Checking online Dennis found that the nearest Indian dealer was in Idaho Falls, about 235 miles away. The towing company he reached said that would cost $900. A U-Haul truck, 25 miles away, would cost $260, plus he would have to buy tie-downs. A no-brainer. Bill took him to Whitehall to get the truck and we returned to the station that was now becoming a second home to us.

Now, how do you roll a non-running 800-pound motorcycle up a steep ramp into a truck? When we first got to this station there were several burly young guys around who we sorely needed. None now. We finally recruited a couple older guys who seemed kind of iffy but you take what you can get. Miraculously we were successful. Tie it down securely and off we go.

The dealership was closed by the time we got there and there were supposedly zero motel rooms available in town. Dang. However, luck was with us and we found one small, older place that had a room for us. Big sigh.

Dennis was over to the dealership before they opened in the morning and immediately got the bike checked in for work. Then we walked a few blocks for breakfast. Returning after breakfast, Dennis asked at the counter about his bike. “The dead one?” the guy asked. He turned and carried over that vial you see in the picture. It had come out of Dennis’s tank and it was red diesel. How the heck did that happen? Was the gas station accidentally dispensing diesel from a gas pump, wreaking havoc with who knows how many vehicles?

More importantly (for Dennis) was what damage might have been done. Worst case scenario is that the pistons might have seized up. Nothing to do but clean it out and see if the bike will run. This will take an hour or two.

Meanwhile Dennis pulled out his gas receipt and it said right there, “red diesel.” He was the one who made a mistake. How?

Looking at the pumps he had seen a couple with green handles and he knew that was diesel. The other handle was red. Now here’s the thing: in Colorado for the most part, red is the color for gasoline. But in the more rural areas in a place like Montana, green means regular diesel, red means red diesel, and black is the color for gas. When I filled my tank I looked at the labels on the pump. Dennis only looked at the color of the handles.

So by the way, what the heck is red diesel? Red diesel is for farm implements and construction equipment that does not use the highways. Because they don’t use the highways they are exempted from the taxes that pay for the highways. Regular diesel has a red dye added. If your semi is stopped and they find red diesel in your tank you are in trouble.

With the dire possibilities in that worst case scenario you can now see why, when the mechanic came out and said, “We’ve got a diesel truck running out there,” that Dennis was ecstatic. His motor was not destroyed, and it was running so we could actually get back on the road.

Be aware, they told him, it may smoke for awhile.

Biker Quote for Today

Why Motorcycles are Better than Men: If your motorcycle smokes, you can do something about it.

I was looking at the console on my Kawi a lot on this ride.

Forty miles out of town and there’s some green fluid dripping. Oh, no! There’s no mistaking coolant, and on a day with temperatures in the 90s this could be seriously bad.

I had been up to Loveland to demo ride some BMW motorcycles, one of which, the R1200RT, I loved. Now headed home to Denver I stopped in Berthoud to visit their museum and see the current exhibit on Floyd Clymer, the renowned racer and publisher of motorcycle repair manuals. Floyd was a local boy who made good. Ready to leave, I was getting back on the bike, my ’99 Kawasaki Concours.

I’d caught just a whiff of the coolant earlier but didn’t think anything of it. I figured somebody else must be leaking fluid; it never occurred to me that it might be coming from my bike. Now that steady drip, drip, drip had my total attention.

What to do? Did I dare to ride it? And how could my Kawi be giving me trouble? It’s the bike that had always been 100 percent reliable, unlike my 38-year-old Honda that knows it’s 38 years old.

I decided to chance it, with my eye glued to the temperature gauge and ready to shut it off immediately if the needle started to enter the danger zone. With luck, running the bike at highway speeds would keep everything cool and the drip would abate. But if I got into the heart of Denver and hit a traffic jam there could be trouble. I’d have to play it by ear.

I pulled away and headed down the road and everything was fine. The needle stayed well on the cool side. I stayed in the right-hand lane, took it easy, and checked the gauge about every 30 seconds all the way to Denver. Coming through downtown on the highway the traffic flowed smoothly and things looked good.

Santa Fe Drive would be the next hazard. It’s a major road with only a few stoplights, but could I get through them all on the green? And what would that needle do if I did get stopped?

One by one I made it until I reached the last light I had to go through. It turned red. It seemed like it was red for a long time. And the needle started climbing. And climbing. “Oh, please let me just get to Joel’s shop. I’m only two miles away now.”

Finally the green and I was moving again. The needle didn’t drop but at least it stopped climbing. Joel was out front as I pulled in, turned the key, and got off.

“Joel, I’ve got a problem!”

No need for a big explanation; the drip told the whole story. A problem with an O-ring, Joel told me. He’d have it fixed that day, and once again I got lucky. In four days I was headed for Sturgis on that bike. If that O-ring had failed four days later . . .

Biker Quote for Today

Live life to the fullest. Forget drama, depression, and all that kinda crap. Be a happy person now!! Go for a ride!!!

Motorcycle maintenance doesn’t always prevent breakdowns.

Biker Brotherhood: A Tale Of Two Breakdowns

My old 1980 Honda CB750 Custom gave me trouble the other day. Twice. And others bikers came to my aid. Twice. Thanks guys. Stopping and helping another biker is a time-honored tradition and it’s one of those things that makes our group special.

Starting out from home, I had only gone about a mile and she died. I knew I had switched to reserve near the end of my ride a couple days ago, but that should have meant I had plenty of gas to get to a station. But “ought to” and “should have” are meaningless in the face of reality.

Happily, as I rolled the bike onto the sidewalk to get it out of the busy intersection where it had chosen to die, another rider came along and asked if everything was OK. No, it was not OK. So Roger gave me a ride to my house to get a can of gas and then stuck around to see if that would do the job.

It didn’t. I poured the gas in, turned the key, and thumbed the starter and while it turned over just fine, that was all. The only other thing I could think of that might be a problem was the fusible link. This part of my electrical system requires removal of the seat to get to, which is not an easy proposition on this CB, so I only do it when I need to. I figured I needed to.

Roger stuck around meanwhile, and when I got to the link it was fine. So now what? As I put it all back together and put the seat back on Roger was fiddling with the gas line down under the tank. He called my attention to a translucent portion of the line, and how when he nudged it with his finger a bit more gas moved into the line. He did that several times and each time more gas filled the line until it was full.

“Try it now,” he suggested. I turned the key and pushed the starter and it fired right up. Wahoo! I would never have thought to look at that, and Roger swore he’s no mechanic but was just following intuition. Only once I was up and running again did he depart, having done a very good deed for a total stranger.

Problem No. 2
So I filled up and headed off to Loveland, where I was going to test ride some Triumphs. I’ll be telling you all about that soon but suffice it to say for now that I loved the Bonnevilles!

I headed back to Denver and thought the bike might not be running quite right about the time I got back into the metro area. It was rush hour and I was going south on I-25 right through the heart of town, so it was slow going. I was in the far-left lane right at the 8th Avenue exit when the bike just died. We were moving slowly so I coasted only about 10 feet before I came to a stop. Fortunately, there was a spot just 10 feet ahead of me where the concrete barrier dividing north- and southbound traffic separated, creating a space just big enough for two motorcycles to tuck safely out of the way. I rolled up into that space.

Clearly I wasn’t going anywhere any time soon on my own. I was stuck in the middle of the interstate with traffic not about to subside. Within just a couple minutes, however, a guy on a Kawasaki, whose name I did not get, pulled into the space (that’s how I know there was room for two bikes) and asked if I needed help.

Yes, I certainly did, could I use his cell phone to call for assistance. I made the call and also called my wife to tell her I wouldn’t be meeting her as planned. And then the Kawi guy took off, having done his good deed for the day. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Long story short (and leaving out some interesting details), I was rescued and hauled off to the shop. There my bike remains as I wait to get the word on what caused the problems.

Bikers helping bikers
I have to say that this practice of bikers helping bikers is a very special thing. I know it arose out of the vagaries of undependable machinery in the early days but that it continues today, when bikes are much more dependable, is a testament to how people really can get along if they choose to.

We may not share political opinions and may have a lot of different ideas about a lot of things, but when you see someone stopped by the side of road you don’t ask who they voted for. You ask if they need help. And if they do, you provide whatever you can. What a wonderful thing it could be if we incorporated this attitude into the other parts of our lives.

Biker Quote for Today

When I hit the open road the ride becomes meditation, the sound of my pipes become music, the rolling through turns becomes a dance, and riding becomes a celebration of freedom!

Stopping beside the road is not always your desire.

I read an article some while ago that said, “Nobody runs out of gas any more, not with dash lights and other geegaws reminding you to stop and fill up.” Obviously, they weren’t talking about motorcycles.

Most motorcycles don’t even have gas gauges. What they do have is a petcock that you turn to Reserve when the bike starts to sputter. Then you know you had better find a gas station fairly soon. Presumably you know how much fuel your reserve holds, you know how many miles you get to a gallon, and that tells you approximately how far you can get on what you’ve got left.

My Kawasaki Concours does have a gas gauge, but it’s in a minority. And even that is only a half-way measure because it still has reserve and once you flip that petcock the gauge just registers Empty and you’re judging your range as you would on any other bike.

I have run out of gas. More than once, on both the Honda and the Kawi. And you’ll rarely meet a rider who hasn’t also run out, at least on occasion.

Now, riding with the OFMC I have never run out, for the simple reason that all my bikes have bigger gas tanks than any of the other guys’ bikes. They need to gas up long before I do so as long as I do the same I’m golden. And I carry a long plastic surgical tube so that if need be we can siphon gas from my tank to one of theirs, though that has never been necessary.

That fact is largely due to John’s experience on one of our early trips. He and Bill and I were blasting north through Wyoming on I-25, heading for Deadwood, SD, and I was in the lead. I noticed they had dropped back so I slowed down and after awhile I pulled over. The customary thing in this situation is to wait, with the assumption that they’ll be along soon. If they don’t come along soon you head back to see what the hold-up is.

So I sat there a while, too long, and turned back. I hadn’t gone far and there they were, going the direction I was now coming from, so I turned around again. We all pulled off and they filled me in.

John had run out of gas and hadn’t thought to flip to reserve, so he coasted to a stop. Bill pulled over to offer aid. They quickly deduced the problem, but even after John switched to reserve the bike wouldn’t start because the fuel line had been drained dry and he couldn’t get any gas to the carburetor. Most motorcycles don’t have fuel pumps, it’s simply a gravity flow system.

So they tried jump starting. We were on flat land and Bill pushed and pushed and pushed while John tried to get the thing going. Finally, about the time Bill was ready to die from his work-out the bike did start, and after he trudged his way back to his own bike they were finally on their way again.

Ever since then John is a total fanatic about getting gas long before he even reaches reserve. He also instructed his son, Johnathon, in this approach so a few years later, on another trip, when the bike Johnathon was on started sputtering he had no idea what was happening because he had never gone to reserve before.

Me, I hit reserve regularly. The only problem is when you forget to switch the petcock back to the regular tank when you gas up. Then, if you’re not paying attention to how many miles you’ve ridden, when the bike starts to sputter, guess what? You’re out of gas. Trust me on this, I know.

Biker Quote for Today

You’re a biker wannabe if you spend more time shining your bike than riding it.

Riding with buddies means you have assistance if you drop the bike. But sometimes you’re not with other riders.

One of the most annoying – not to mention embarrassing – things you can do is drop your motorcycle in front of the whole world. I’m not talking about going down, which is when you wipe out at speed. Dropping the bike usually happens in a parking lot as you’re trying to turn sharply with almost no speed. You lean the bike a little too far and suddenly 600 pounds of falling motorcycle overrules any thoughts you had of remaining upright.

The good thing about dropping the bike in a parking lot is that you have friends or at least helpful strangers to help you lift the bike back up. But sometimes it’s not that easy.

When friends can’t help

We were out on the first day of one of the early OFMC summer trips, and John was riding his brand new Honda Shadow. Bill was in the lead and as we passed a lake he spotted a dirt road running down to the lakeshore. Figuring it to be a good place for a break, he turned in and John followed, with me behind.

The road quickly got steep and rutted, not the type of thing we like doing on street bikes, but at this point we were committed. It was easier now to go forward than try to turn around.

Then John started losing it in a rut. The Shadow was leaning precariously and he had his foot down trying to keep it from going any further.

“Ken, help me. Help me!” he yelled frantically but I was dealing with ruts of my own and before I could do a thing to help John I first had to stop my bike in a stable location and get the kickstand down. John dropped the bike.

Fortunately I was there, we righted the bike, and rode on down to the shore, where Bill was wondering what was taking us so long. Riding back up we managed to avoid any mishaps.

When You’re Alone

Friends are great to ride with but sometimes you ride alone, at least I do. I was crossing Nebraska one day on U.S. 34 and spotted a farm road heading north from the highway that looked like a good place to stop and stretch my legs. I knew it had rained the night before but the ground look dry and firm. What I could not see was that it was only the surface that was dry, while underneath the earth was soaked.

There was solid gravel for about 20 feet away from the main road and rolling at about 3-4 miles per hour I hit the end of the gravel and my front tire splooshed into deep mud beneath what had appeared to be firm. In slow motion the wheel slid to my left and the bike and I went down to the right, with me dumped into the mud hole. There was no one else around.

Now, I know how to pick up a bike and I had done it before. You cock the handlebars as far as you can to the side it’s laying on, back into the saddle and tank, grip the hand grip and whatever you can get a hold of with your other hand, and then stand up carefully, lifting with your legs.

But I was in a mud hole. Have you ever tried to get firm footing in a mud hole? The first few times I’d start to stand up and my feet would slip and down we’d go again. I finally dug my heels down far enough to reach something a little more solid and did get the bike upright. I was now standing in a mud hole with my back to the bike. I had to very carefully turn around, very carefully throw my leg over the seat, and then hope the bike would start. It did and I inched my way toward solid ground until I could finally relax.

Then I turned around, got back on the highway and stopped at the first town I came to. I got a motel, ran the bike over to a car wash to get the mud off, and spent a good part of my evening cleaning mud off my leather jacket.

Given the choice between annoyance and embarrassment, I guess I’d choose the embarrassment. At least then you have someone to give you a hand.

Biker Quote for Today

Instead of trying to blend in and be like everyone else, I became a biker.

The OFMC at Glen Canyon.

There was one point on this recent OFMC trip where I think everyone would agree the riding was more than memorable.

We had just come through the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area and were somewhere in the vicinity of Natural Bridges National Monument and we came upon a series of tight turns. This is normally something we who ride find delightful: tucking in, leaning first this way and then that and then back this way, maybe even scraping some hard parts if you’re on that type of bike. But in these very same turns we also encountered something we were not thrilled about: tar snakes.

Not just a few; they were like a spider web, going everywhere in every direction. Totally impossible to avoid. And right there on these tight turns where we were already leaned over, with not a lot of traction to spare.

Holy crap! Nothing to do but ride it through.

Of course that’s a lot easier to say than to do when you feel your front tire sliding out from under you only to then feel your rear tire going, while the front has stabilized. But stabilized only for a second because as soon as you’re past one there are three more in your path. And sometimes your front and back tires are sliding at the same time.

So we got through a series of turns like that and breathed a sigh of relief but just a minute later here was another series of turns with just as many snakes as the last time. Yow!

Of course, it was a hot day, so they were soft and oozing. There was not a single one of us who had encountered tar snakes that bad ever before. No one went down and no one got hurt but every one of us had a memorable experience that came up in conversation more than once in the next couple days.

Here’s a bit of advice I found on how to deal with them: Once on the tar snakes and leaned over go loose on the bars and don’t chop the throttle. Look for pavement areas that look to have less tar and try to alter your line/lean to get the front tire there. If possible cross the tar snakes at 90° or at angles never ride along the length of a tar snake.

Thanks to dirtrider for that bit of advice. And yes, that seems to be the consensus, don’t over-react, stay loose and ride it through.

Then of course, later in the day we ran into about 10 miles of new chip seal. Brand new chip seal. Not our favorite day of the trip.

Biker Quote for Today

Tar Snakes. Their bite is painful. Their laughter is silent. — RedWings

Got a new tire--I'm ready to ride.

We leave tomorrow on this year’s OFMC trip and I’ve got a lot to get done. Right now I’m at Joel’s (Mountain Thunder Motorsports) taking care of the single most important thing on my list: getting a new rear tire on my Concours. The used Avon tire Jungle put on it three years ago when I got a puncture in my six-day-old Dunlop is just about shot. Time for another new Dunlop.

Then there’s so much more to be done.

Of course I have to pack, though that will be less of a job than it was for the recent trip with Kevin and Jeff. We camped on that trip but the OFMC does not camp any more. That lightens my load considerably.

All my electronic devices need charging. How many of these do you travel with? Here’s what I carry.

• laptop
• cell phone
• PDA (a Palm–yes, antique, but I don’t have a smart phone)
• digital recorder (good for quickly and easily capturing thoughts and details I might otherwise forget)
• cameras (two)

I also want to get a haircut today. My hair is long enough that on this last trip a strand or two would often get loose in my face in my helmet, flicking with the breeze and tickling my face. And hard to effectively tuck aside.

And these things unrelated to this trip that just need to get done:

• send an invoice to a client for services rendered
• plant some more beans and lettuce in the garden
• take my car to the car wash (I have a coupon for a free cleaning and it’s going to expire)
• water the houseplants

Yep, busy day. But right now, here at Joel’s, I guess I’ll just read this March issue of Rider magazine.

As an aside, here is a useful resource from a biker lawyer on safe driving for motorcyclists.

Biker Quote for Today

You have 1/4-inch chicken strips? Wow, I’m so impressed!

The only casualty of the fall.

Kevin and I were crossing Idaho on US 20 when I caught a big, juicy bug on my visor directly in front of my right eye. It left me effectively blind in that eye so I pulled over to clean it off.

I got off the bike and set it on the side stand, pulled out my cleaner stuff and sprayed the splotch of bug guts. While I was doing this Kevin pulled in behind me and got off his bike. Apparently he didn’t notice the bit of slope we were on, and as he released his grip on the bike it started to topple away from him. At the same time, it rolled forward just enough to nudge my bike and push it forward off the side stand. His bike crashed to the right and mine went down to the left.

I will forever regret that I didn’t have the presence of mind to pull out my camera and get a shot immediately of these two bikes on the ground and Kevin standing there with a dumbfounded look on his face wondering what the heck just happened. But I was too busy wondering what the heck just happened, and then we both jumped to get them both upright again.

My top bag was open so I could get the cleaning spray out, so all its contents were now scattered on the ground. The spot where I had sprayed my visor now had a patch of dirt and sand where the cleaner had picked it up as the helmet hit the ground. I had some clean-up to do. Yeah, that bug made me pay for snuffing its life.

The only damage was the left turn signal (in the picture above), which was busted. I’d call that a design flaw in the V-Strom. If the bike falls over one or the other of those is almost guaranteed to break. Kevin, who used to rent V-Stroms out of Gunnison, said it’s a $90 part and his customers were forever breaking them.

So he replaced them on all his bikes with a flush-mount set of signals that he said cost $15. His didn’t break. And he’s pretty sure he still has at least one of them that he took off one of his bikes, so replacement should be easy.

Just another day on the bike.

Biker Quote for Today

90% of my paycheck goes towards dirt bikes (the rest is just wasted).