Let me preface this post by saying that I try to always have good biker karma. If I walk by a bike that's been drop I try to pick it up, a blown off bike cover I put it back on, when driving in a cage I'm always extra courteous to motorcyclist and give'em a big
.
On Friday I was driving on the L.I.E. in Queens heading back into Manhattan; for non-New Yorkers this is not really a road where you want to have a break down. This road is very wide with about 4/5 lanes, fast traffic and not much of a shoulder to speak of. All of a sudden my bike starts to loose power ('03 620), putt putt putt putt. I give it throttle and all I get is a weak putt putt putt putt and the oil light comes on. I pull in the clutch and try to give it a couple of revs and two seconds later, whoosh. I feel the sickening calm and silence of my bike having shut off. I am now coasting on a stretch of heavily trafficked road where cars & trucks are typically cruising at around 70 mph. I try the starter and nothing.
This is where the bike gods come in. Thankfully I was already merging onto my exit, Van Dam St, and the exit slopes downhill. I was carrying enough speed to keep up with traffic and make a clean and safe exit and get my bike off the road and onto the sidewalk. It was mid-eighties and sunny and I have a black helmet, black summer armored jacket and a backpack. After getting my bike off the road I was soaked in sweat. Once again the bike gods intervened. I was beneath an underpass and I hear some one by the exit, "Ice cold water $1 here, Ice cold water $1 here."
I check everything I can think off; I'm far from mechanically inclined but I lurk the DMF enough to have picked up a thing or two. The temp is normal, full tank of gas, fuses all seem okay, oil looks good, no burning smell or signs of leaking. I check a few other things and everything appears normal. I turn the key, press the ignition and all I get is the rapid click, click, click from the starter solenoid but the starter doesn't turn over the engine. I'm stumped.
Again the biker gods lend a hand. There is a gas station a few yards away I can safely push my bike to. As I'm frantically calling my mechanic, a friend and my brother but I quickly realize I'm on my own. It takes me a few minutes to realize I'm standing in the shade of a big Uhaul truck. The gas station doubles as a Uhaul rental place. I'm waiting behind two stranded drivers asking the guy behind the counter for a screw driver. A linkage in their Saturn's stick shift worked loose and they didn't have any tools. The counter guy turns them down so I tell them, "Here guys I have a Leatherman", (and i hope they don't fix their car and take off with my $80 multi-tool, this
is New York). After a lot of begging, pleading, almost crying and promising to have the truck back in a couple of hours; I manage to talk the Uhaul guy into letting me rent one of the already reserved trucks.
The bike gods lend a hand again as I'm trying to figure out the best way to take a running start to get my bike up the ramp without dumping it. "Hey, here's your tool. You need a hand with your bike?", turns out one of the guys is a biker that rides a Victory motorcycle and loves Ducs. They help me get the bike up the ramp and position it against the back of the truck and we chat about bikes and local roads for few minutes. They take off and I tie down my bike with twine (it was all I could scrounge up). I head into the city, as gingerly as a Uhaul truck going over NYC potholes can, drop off my bike infront of my mechanic's who's closed for the holiday weekend. Once the whole ordeal is over I take my wife out to dinner where I try to impress her with my story over many
for me and
for her.
One last time the bike gods help out; when we get home that night my wife makes up for my day by . . . (Okay that one might have been the wine gods
but that part of the story is not for this board).
The culprit, a shorted out regulator
