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(**Disclaimer: I am aware of the various stupid/wrong things I am doing in this story, however, I don’t have much shame and don’t mind making myself look a little foolish)
Have you ever had one of those ideas where every rational brain cell is telling you not to do it? Well, I had one of those today.
I did a bunch of work on the bike over the winter, and I have had some trouble getting it started and running reliably over the last two weeks (whenever the weather was nice enough to work outside). I cleaned the carbs, changed gas and put in new plugs, as well as checking various other things.
Today I got it running fairly smoothly (at least enough to get started on the tuning process). My battery is dead as a doornail, so I was jumping the bike to get it started.
I turned it off, and was able to restart it a few times with the kickstart, so I decided to take it around the block. It rode nice, a little rough, but better than I thought it would. Shall I take it a little further?
This is where old guy Josh and young guy Josh start to butt heads. The odds are pretty good that this will end poorly. Then again, I have been enviously watching every yahoo on a bike out enjoying himself the last few days, and I wants a slice o’ that pie.
Anyway, I decided to ride a little further away. I got near a shopping center about 2 miles away from my house, and the bike stalled at a red light (it wasn’t anything I was doing, it just stalled). The kicker wouldn’t start it, but I was able to get it started pretty easily with a little pushing. I decided to turn around, pull into the nearby Lowe’s parking lot, tool around maybe a little bit longer, and then go home.
About 2 minutes later it stalled again. This time, nothing was going to start it. I tried to push start it for about 15 minutes, and then I was exhausted.
At one point an older dude in a work van pulled up next to me and asked if it was a Triumph. When he found out it was a Suzuki he said if it was a Triumph I should have expected the bike to die on me. He wasn’t very funny, nor was he very helpful. Before I could get my helmet off and ask him if I could get a jump, he drove off.
I should mention that I am right on the border of the ghetto, and here in the ghettos of Detroit, people aren’t overly helpful. A mall guard/cop pulled up and recommended that I not leave the bike there long. He was nice about it though.
I have a few friends around the area, but of course no one was answering their phone. This is actually fine, because I hate inconveniencing other people with my stupidity.
So I formulated a plan. I would walk the two miles home, grab my truck, come back, jump the bike, ride it home, hop on a bicycle, ride back, throw it in the truck, and drive home.
My bike, holding down a space while I started my walk.
Next to the truck, about to be jumped
It was a tedious plan, but it was working fine. As soon as the cables were attached, the bike fired right when I pushed the starter.
The ride home was uneventful. Then something occurred to me as I was preparing to get my bike out of the basement.
I should mention that I am pretty into road biking. I have three pretty good bikes (well, one beater, one goody but oldie, and one outstanding rig, which averages out to three pretty good bikes). I am also in the process of moving, and a lot of stuff is boxed up and some of it is at my girlfriend’s place. On my bikes I use clipless pedals, which require special shoes with cleats. Two of my pairs of shoes are at the chic’s, and guess where my third (and final) pair are? In the truck. At Lowes.
I ended up having to dig through a box of bike parts to find an old set of flat pedals, and proceeded to swap them out. Anyway, the ride to the store was actually kind of pleasant.
About to start the sixth leg of my journey.
Once there, I threw the bike into the bed of the truck and started to drive home. I was a couple blocks away from home, and I noticed that the antilock brake warning light was on, which is odd. As I turned onto my street, the brake pedal fell to the floor. This is a little disturbing, since my parking brake broke over the winter. I was intending to fix it when the weather warmed up. I was able to get home and pull into the driveway somewhat safely (T rear brakes were sort of still working).
Upon inspection, the front left brake line had sprung a leak. Thanks to Mr. Murphy and his infernal law, I threw away a bunch of brake line last Sunday while cleaning the basement (preparing for the big move).
I had one last project to do today, replacing my broken washing machine with a newer unit, because I had some laundry that absolutely needed to be done today. Keeping with the theme of the day, the fluorescent lights in the laundry room stopped working, so I had to do it in the dark with a flashlight. Hardee-har-har.
In the words of Mister Mom: “Keep your sense of humor, it’s critical.”
The silver lining: If I hadn’t had to do a little cross training to get my bike safely home, I probably would have gotten up tomorrow, jumped in the truck and headed downtown, and my brakes would have gone out somewhere on the freeway in downtown Detroit.
Have you ever had one of those ideas where every rational brain cell is telling you not to do it? Well, I had one of those today.
I did a bunch of work on the bike over the winter, and I have had some trouble getting it started and running reliably over the last two weeks (whenever the weather was nice enough to work outside). I cleaned the carbs, changed gas and put in new plugs, as well as checking various other things.
Today I got it running fairly smoothly (at least enough to get started on the tuning process). My battery is dead as a doornail, so I was jumping the bike to get it started.
I turned it off, and was able to restart it a few times with the kickstart, so I decided to take it around the block. It rode nice, a little rough, but better than I thought it would. Shall I take it a little further?
This is where old guy Josh and young guy Josh start to butt heads. The odds are pretty good that this will end poorly. Then again, I have been enviously watching every yahoo on a bike out enjoying himself the last few days, and I wants a slice o’ that pie.
Anyway, I decided to ride a little further away. I got near a shopping center about 2 miles away from my house, and the bike stalled at a red light (it wasn’t anything I was doing, it just stalled). The kicker wouldn’t start it, but I was able to get it started pretty easily with a little pushing. I decided to turn around, pull into the nearby Lowe’s parking lot, tool around maybe a little bit longer, and then go home.
About 2 minutes later it stalled again. This time, nothing was going to start it. I tried to push start it for about 15 minutes, and then I was exhausted.
At one point an older dude in a work van pulled up next to me and asked if it was a Triumph. When he found out it was a Suzuki he said if it was a Triumph I should have expected the bike to die on me. He wasn’t very funny, nor was he very helpful. Before I could get my helmet off and ask him if I could get a jump, he drove off.
I should mention that I am right on the border of the ghetto, and here in the ghettos of Detroit, people aren’t overly helpful. A mall guard/cop pulled up and recommended that I not leave the bike there long. He was nice about it though.
I have a few friends around the area, but of course no one was answering their phone. This is actually fine, because I hate inconveniencing other people with my stupidity.
So I formulated a plan. I would walk the two miles home, grab my truck, come back, jump the bike, ride it home, hop on a bicycle, ride back, throw it in the truck, and drive home.
My bike, holding down a space while I started my walk.
Next to the truck, about to be jumped
It was a tedious plan, but it was working fine. As soon as the cables were attached, the bike fired right when I pushed the starter.
The ride home was uneventful. Then something occurred to me as I was preparing to get my bike out of the basement.
I should mention that I am pretty into road biking. I have three pretty good bikes (well, one beater, one goody but oldie, and one outstanding rig, which averages out to three pretty good bikes). I am also in the process of moving, and a lot of stuff is boxed up and some of it is at my girlfriend’s place. On my bikes I use clipless pedals, which require special shoes with cleats. Two of my pairs of shoes are at the chic’s, and guess where my third (and final) pair are? In the truck. At Lowes.
I ended up having to dig through a box of bike parts to find an old set of flat pedals, and proceeded to swap them out. Anyway, the ride to the store was actually kind of pleasant.
About to start the sixth leg of my journey.Once there, I threw the bike into the bed of the truck and started to drive home. I was a couple blocks away from home, and I noticed that the antilock brake warning light was on, which is odd. As I turned onto my street, the brake pedal fell to the floor. This is a little disturbing, since my parking brake broke over the winter. I was intending to fix it when the weather warmed up. I was able to get home and pull into the driveway somewhat safely (T rear brakes were sort of still working).
Upon inspection, the front left brake line had sprung a leak. Thanks to Mr. Murphy and his infernal law, I threw away a bunch of brake line last Sunday while cleaning the basement (preparing for the big move).
I had one last project to do today, replacing my broken washing machine with a newer unit, because I had some laundry that absolutely needed to be done today. Keeping with the theme of the day, the fluorescent lights in the laundry room stopped working, so I had to do it in the dark with a flashlight. Hardee-har-har.
In the words of Mister Mom: “Keep your sense of humor, it’s critical.”
The silver lining: If I hadn’t had to do a little cross training to get my bike safely home, I probably would have gotten up tomorrow, jumped in the truck and headed downtown, and my brakes would have gone out somewhere on the freeway in downtown Detroit.
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