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Summer of '94. I'd either just had my 19th birthday, or was about to. I was spending the summer at home after my first year of college and a friend asked if I like to spend a few weeks in San Antonio. So I loaded up the GS550L and headed west on I-44, turned south onto the Indian Nation Turnpike in OK, where I nearly ran out of gas, enjoyed the Dallas scenery from the under-construction parking lot and finally rolled into Converse, TX after dodging a ladder across the lane on I-35.
A couple weeks later I decided it was time to go home and plotted a course back to Ft. Leonard Wood via Piggott, AR to visit with my grandparents. This is where the adventure starts.
11 miles west of Hope, on a Saturday afternoon, at about 70mph, the motor red lined and then died with a clunk. I coasted to the shoulder and discovered my chain had wrapped itself around the drive sprocket. The master link was long gone. I hitched a ride into town and started calling, um, well, there were no bike shops in Hope. The handful of ATV shops willing to answer the phone at beer-thirty couldn't help. The nearest real motorcycle shop was 40 miles away and wouldn't open again until Monday. I got a hotel room and hired a towing company to collect my bike off the highway and deposit it outside my room.
At this point I figured I should call the grandparents to let them I'd be late. Dad answered the phone! They had decided to drive down to meet me - a surprise of sorts, I guess. Dad confirmed that there was, in fact, a bike shop in Piggott, borrowed Grandpa's pickup and headed my way.
The next morning we loaded the bike and hit the road. A few hours later we arrived in Piggott and Mom and Dad drove back to MO. I spent a lazy afternoon with my grandparents telling them all about my travels.
Monday morning I drove down to the local bike shop. It wasn't much more than a 2-car garage staffed by one man who truly seemed to like what he was doing. I showed him my chain and he proceeded to fish around in a rather large, unorganized parts bin. A few minutes later he produced the very master link I needed. "My last one," he said.
"How much?"
"A dollar."
A couple weeks later I decided it was time to go home and plotted a course back to Ft. Leonard Wood via Piggott, AR to visit with my grandparents. This is where the adventure starts.
11 miles west of Hope, on a Saturday afternoon, at about 70mph, the motor red lined and then died with a clunk. I coasted to the shoulder and discovered my chain had wrapped itself around the drive sprocket. The master link was long gone. I hitched a ride into town and started calling, um, well, there were no bike shops in Hope. The handful of ATV shops willing to answer the phone at beer-thirty couldn't help. The nearest real motorcycle shop was 40 miles away and wouldn't open again until Monday. I got a hotel room and hired a towing company to collect my bike off the highway and deposit it outside my room.
At this point I figured I should call the grandparents to let them I'd be late. Dad answered the phone! They had decided to drive down to meet me - a surprise of sorts, I guess. Dad confirmed that there was, in fact, a bike shop in Piggott, borrowed Grandpa's pickup and headed my way.
The next morning we loaded the bike and hit the road. A few hours later we arrived in Piggott and Mom and Dad drove back to MO. I spent a lazy afternoon with my grandparents telling them all about my travels.
Monday morning I drove down to the local bike shop. It wasn't much more than a 2-car garage staffed by one man who truly seemed to like what he was doing. I showed him my chain and he proceeded to fish around in a rather large, unorganized parts bin. A few minutes later he produced the very master link I needed. "My last one," he said.
"How much?"
"A dollar."