I’m still on the north shore of Lake Superior.
It was cloudy and cool this morning.
Having only 140 miles to go, I took my time and got on the road by 0900. Unfortunately, I had to stop to put on the rain pants since the highway was wet. There was only the occasional drop of water on the windshield, so it must have rained much earlier.
At about the 20 minute mark I was flagged down by a kid out of Manitoba on an ’84 Yamaha two-banger. He was heading south also, but his engine died. Without tools, he couldn’t do much. I loaned him some of mine (the ones he could use, since I don’t carry metric) and he drained his two fuel bowls.
Clear and bright.
The plugs were good. The plug leads were a tad sketchy (thanks for that word, Kayla) and broke off in my hand.
That’s normal, sez the kid.
Well, okay, I guess. It’s his bike.
He’s done all the work on it to date. He’s got a nice hand-made spiderweb lower fairing. It’s not actually a fairing, but if it were covered, it would be.
Eventually, he manages to get to the fuel filter. It has fuel in it, so he thinks it’s okay.
Not necessarily, I tell him. Why not pull it, drain some into that empty Tim Horton’s cup and see what it looks like?
I’ll do that, sez the kid.
Hmm. Grass. How did green lawn grass get into the fuel filter, I ask?
Dunno, sez the kid.
The fuel line gets reconnected, the kid engages the starter, and away we go.
During this series of events, an interested OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) officer drives by a couple of times, passing in both directions and obviously on his highway patrol, giving us the eye. Finally, he can stand it no longer and pulls in behind us to see what the hell is going on.
He turned out to be a pretty nice guy, actually, giving helpful advice and offering clean gas to the kid.
I don’t know if the kid accepted or not, because once the motorcycle turned over, I collected my tools and got back on the road.
It poured for the remainder of my 100 mile ride.
My thanks to Aerostich and their Darien rain gear. It’s kept my ass dry for decades now.
* * *
Not too many riders stop for a motorcycle by the side of the road any more. There are too many RUBs out there who think a cell phone and a trailer can solve all the problems one might encounter.
Even if one of those guys were to stop, his assistance would be limited to going for gas, or to make a phone call. Mechanical help wouldn’t be an option, I’m certain. Tools? Why carry tools? I have a five-year warranty.
Unfortunately, in the boondocks (believe me, the north shore of Lake Superior is the boondock nation), a rider stopping to offer help and support is a welcome relief. The look of gratitude on the kid’s face when I pulled over was all that I needed to see, even without his immediately knowing whether I could help or not.
Fortunately, this time, I could.