jwhite518
Well-known member
Early in the rally I noticed my bike making a rattling noise at stop lights. This noise usually means that I’m a bit low on oil, or that my valves need adjusting. I knew that neither of those were an option since my bike was freshly serviced, so it meant something else. Then I noticed that the noise went away when I pulled in the clutch lever, whether or not I was in gear. I decided to call my shop, Ted’s Beemer Shop in Scotts Valley, CA, who had just worked on the bike prior to the rally. They said that these symptoms were disturbing, that usually it was caused by a bad bearing or output shaft in the transmission. I decided to keep riding and hope it held long enough for me to finish the trip. I called George and let him know what was happening.
Due to this phone call, my possible transmission issues were posted online. My friend Paul Peloquin (BIODSL here,) who rode the same RS for many years, read the notice and called me. He said his bike made the same noises for a long time and never caused any terminal failures. This was encouraging to me, and reinforced my decision to keep riding.
The day of the failure I was eastbound on I-80 in Nevada. I had just filled my gas and drinking water tanks in Battle Mountain when all of a sudden my bike felt like it was riding over rumble strips. Also some serious clanking was coming from below me. I coasted to the shoulder with the knowledge that my rally had just ended. Fortunately I had great cell phone service in that spot, so I immediately called George with the news, and then called my towing company. George was very disappointed with the news, and he swung into action to get me rescued and possibly even procure a replacement bike so I could finish the rally.
In quick succession my phone was busy with calls from the tow company, Reno John, and Brad (beerme). It was quickly determined that both Reno and Brad, while they would be happy to lend me their FJRs, didn’t have enough tire life to get me to Tulsa and back. Brian Roberts was out of town or he would have let me have his Blackbird. There went my immediate chances of borrowing a bike so I could finish. My goal became to get my bike secured and get myself to Tulsa.
I really wanted to finish the rally. My final two days were easily doable, I was well rested, and ready to be scored and see how I did. I actually had been a great mood all day because I had a great plan and knew I would finish, and probably finish well. I didn’t let this breakdown discourage me. Yes my rally was over but I could still salvage what I could from the experience. I was not letting it get me down.
Broke down dead in the water on Interstate 80
This little fella was kinda broke down too. Decomposed, even.
Brad lives in Elko, 60 miles east of the breakdown spot. We had met earlier in the year at the WORD! rally, and I knew of him before that from the FJR forum. He was available to help and he immediately swung into action. He advised me which towing company to use, which I arranged with my insurance company. Then he hopped into his car, drove to the motel that is right next to the U-Haul lot, reserved me a room, and then drove the 60 miles out to meet me. He arrived before the flatbed did, and sat with me while we waited. When the tow guy came, he and Brad already knew each other. This was great for me because I was treated like one of the family. We got the bike secured on the flatbed and caravanned back to Elko.
A sad sight.
Tow guy writing me up while Brad oversees
Brad offered his garage for my bike storage, which I took him up on.
Message to George
So we dropped the bike off, went to the motel to grab my room, and then went out for a bite to eat. I really needed a beer so the Mexican place we went to was perfect. Then he drove me to Wally World so I could buy some normal underwear (LD Comforts aren’t really that comfortable when you’re not on a bike.) Final stop was back to the motel. Brad had treated me like a jewel on the pillow of his hospitality. He didn’t even let me pick up the check for dinner, which was about all I could do to repay him for all he’d done.
Next morning I was at the U-Haul place right when they opened. They had a truck I could use, so I threw in my stuff and drove first to Home Depot to buy some tiedowns, then to Brad’s house. As much as I have defended my choice of the BMW as a rally bike, and as much as I had never been mad, dejected, or depressed by the whole event so far, my first reaction upon seeing my bike in the morning was not a good one. “Fucking piece of shit.” I said to my lame bike in Brad’s garage. And I meant it.
He helped me get it up the ramp and secured in the truck, which was quite an operation. We had a few hairy moments but managed to git ‘er done. He then lent me a suitcase so I could travel to Tulsa like a normal human, not someone carrying his stuff in motorcycle saddlebag liners. When you put together all Brad did for me during this time, all you can conclude is, what an incredible guy. Brad, you are awesome. Thank you.
Securely tied down.
My desert chariot
I set out on the road to Sierra BMW in Sparks. LD guy Bob Torter is always raving about how great this shop is, so given the choice between Salt Lake City and Sparks, it was a no-brainer. I hadn’t even talked to them yet but I knew they’d do their best to get me going again. I got on the phone to my sister Debbie and asked her to find me a flight from Reno to Tulsa. We endured multiple call drops while the cell service faded in and out on I-80. It was then I realized how lucky I had been to break down on a section of the road that had good service. Imagine if I had been stuck in a dead zone! Debbie found me a good flight that landed in Tulsa early in the morning. Unfortunately, not early enough to make the Waffle House bonus, which I would have liked to attend via taxi, but early enough to beat the penalty window. I’m finishing this rally like a rider, dammit!
Next I got on the horn to my buddy Reno John. I really only wanted to kill a few hours with him before my flight, but of course he volunteered to help in whatever way possible. I asked him if I could leave my riding gear with him, so that the shop wouldn’t be burdened with that junk and I’d have peace of mind knowing it was safe with John. Of course he said it was no problem. I’d call him when I got everything settled with the shop.
At the shop, the first thing they did was a quick diagnosis. I was happily surprised to find that it was not my transmission, but my drive shaft that was lunched. Scott, the service manager, pried away the rubber boot on the drive assembly and eyed large chunks of metal in places they weren’t supposed to be. This was great news, because instead of a major overhaul job that they wouldn’t be able to start until October, this was a 3 hour job they could do with parts on hand plus a drive shaft they could get in two days. Happy happy joy joy!! We agreed that they would work on the bike as soon as the part came in, and if we were lucky and no other weird parts were required, they could finish the job by Saturday. I am to call them on Saturday to find out the status, and hopefully I can fly back to Reno and ride my bike home on Sunday. Incredible.
Bike in the reception area, Sierra BMW
I still had to return the truck, so I drove it to the U-Haul lot in Sparks, where Reno met me. While I was in line to do my business at the counter, Reno transferred all my junk into the back of his car. We drove downtown and sat at the bar in Harrahs, where we drowned my sorrows and talked bike stuff. At some point I realized that I didn’t have my rally placard with me. I must have left it at the bike shop while I was taking “bonus photos.” A quick phone call confirmed this was so, so we finished our scotches and drove across town to the shop and retrieved the dingus.
Sierra service manager keeping close watch on my rally placard
I would have been happy at this point for him to just drop me at the airport, where I could spend an hour or two waiting for my flight, but John was having none of that. He said I would be spending enough time in airports over the next few hours, so let’s hang out some more. We went to a cool pub with a cute barmaid, ordered a beer, used some wireless internet, and then went outside to watch the local yokels swimming in the Truckee River. When it was time to go, we went.
Reno with my junk in his car and a good brew in his hand.
The saga isn’t over yet. I’m writing this while traveling to Tulsa in three flight segments and a long layover at LAX. I’m writing it now while it’s fresh in my memory because the most important part of story has already happened. It is how well I was treated by Brad and John. These guys have taught me a lesson in how LDRiders take care of each other. I only hope I have the chance to repay them by helping another rider in distress in the same selfless and generous way. Thanks guys. You rock.
Due to this phone call, my possible transmission issues were posted online. My friend Paul Peloquin (BIODSL here,) who rode the same RS for many years, read the notice and called me. He said his bike made the same noises for a long time and never caused any terminal failures. This was encouraging to me, and reinforced my decision to keep riding.
The day of the failure I was eastbound on I-80 in Nevada. I had just filled my gas and drinking water tanks in Battle Mountain when all of a sudden my bike felt like it was riding over rumble strips. Also some serious clanking was coming from below me. I coasted to the shoulder with the knowledge that my rally had just ended. Fortunately I had great cell phone service in that spot, so I immediately called George with the news, and then called my towing company. George was very disappointed with the news, and he swung into action to get me rescued and possibly even procure a replacement bike so I could finish the rally.
In quick succession my phone was busy with calls from the tow company, Reno John, and Brad (beerme). It was quickly determined that both Reno and Brad, while they would be happy to lend me their FJRs, didn’t have enough tire life to get me to Tulsa and back. Brian Roberts was out of town or he would have let me have his Blackbird. There went my immediate chances of borrowing a bike so I could finish. My goal became to get my bike secured and get myself to Tulsa.
I really wanted to finish the rally. My final two days were easily doable, I was well rested, and ready to be scored and see how I did. I actually had been a great mood all day because I had a great plan and knew I would finish, and probably finish well. I didn’t let this breakdown discourage me. Yes my rally was over but I could still salvage what I could from the experience. I was not letting it get me down.
Broke down dead in the water on Interstate 80
This little fella was kinda broke down too. Decomposed, even.
Brad lives in Elko, 60 miles east of the breakdown spot. We had met earlier in the year at the WORD! rally, and I knew of him before that from the FJR forum. He was available to help and he immediately swung into action. He advised me which towing company to use, which I arranged with my insurance company. Then he hopped into his car, drove to the motel that is right next to the U-Haul lot, reserved me a room, and then drove the 60 miles out to meet me. He arrived before the flatbed did, and sat with me while we waited. When the tow guy came, he and Brad already knew each other. This was great for me because I was treated like one of the family. We got the bike secured on the flatbed and caravanned back to Elko.
A sad sight.
Tow guy writing me up while Brad oversees
Brad offered his garage for my bike storage, which I took him up on.
Message to George
So we dropped the bike off, went to the motel to grab my room, and then went out for a bite to eat. I really needed a beer so the Mexican place we went to was perfect. Then he drove me to Wally World so I could buy some normal underwear (LD Comforts aren’t really that comfortable when you’re not on a bike.) Final stop was back to the motel. Brad had treated me like a jewel on the pillow of his hospitality. He didn’t even let me pick up the check for dinner, which was about all I could do to repay him for all he’d done.
Next morning I was at the U-Haul place right when they opened. They had a truck I could use, so I threw in my stuff and drove first to Home Depot to buy some tiedowns, then to Brad’s house. As much as I have defended my choice of the BMW as a rally bike, and as much as I had never been mad, dejected, or depressed by the whole event so far, my first reaction upon seeing my bike in the morning was not a good one. “Fucking piece of shit.” I said to my lame bike in Brad’s garage. And I meant it.
He helped me get it up the ramp and secured in the truck, which was quite an operation. We had a few hairy moments but managed to git ‘er done. He then lent me a suitcase so I could travel to Tulsa like a normal human, not someone carrying his stuff in motorcycle saddlebag liners. When you put together all Brad did for me during this time, all you can conclude is, what an incredible guy. Brad, you are awesome. Thank you.
Securely tied down.
My desert chariot
I set out on the road to Sierra BMW in Sparks. LD guy Bob Torter is always raving about how great this shop is, so given the choice between Salt Lake City and Sparks, it was a no-brainer. I hadn’t even talked to them yet but I knew they’d do their best to get me going again. I got on the phone to my sister Debbie and asked her to find me a flight from Reno to Tulsa. We endured multiple call drops while the cell service faded in and out on I-80. It was then I realized how lucky I had been to break down on a section of the road that had good service. Imagine if I had been stuck in a dead zone! Debbie found me a good flight that landed in Tulsa early in the morning. Unfortunately, not early enough to make the Waffle House bonus, which I would have liked to attend via taxi, but early enough to beat the penalty window. I’m finishing this rally like a rider, dammit!
Next I got on the horn to my buddy Reno John. I really only wanted to kill a few hours with him before my flight, but of course he volunteered to help in whatever way possible. I asked him if I could leave my riding gear with him, so that the shop wouldn’t be burdened with that junk and I’d have peace of mind knowing it was safe with John. Of course he said it was no problem. I’d call him when I got everything settled with the shop.
At the shop, the first thing they did was a quick diagnosis. I was happily surprised to find that it was not my transmission, but my drive shaft that was lunched. Scott, the service manager, pried away the rubber boot on the drive assembly and eyed large chunks of metal in places they weren’t supposed to be. This was great news, because instead of a major overhaul job that they wouldn’t be able to start until October, this was a 3 hour job they could do with parts on hand plus a drive shaft they could get in two days. Happy happy joy joy!! We agreed that they would work on the bike as soon as the part came in, and if we were lucky and no other weird parts were required, they could finish the job by Saturday. I am to call them on Saturday to find out the status, and hopefully I can fly back to Reno and ride my bike home on Sunday. Incredible.
Bike in the reception area, Sierra BMW
I still had to return the truck, so I drove it to the U-Haul lot in Sparks, where Reno met me. While I was in line to do my business at the counter, Reno transferred all my junk into the back of his car. We drove downtown and sat at the bar in Harrahs, where we drowned my sorrows and talked bike stuff. At some point I realized that I didn’t have my rally placard with me. I must have left it at the bike shop while I was taking “bonus photos.” A quick phone call confirmed this was so, so we finished our scotches and drove across town to the shop and retrieved the dingus.
Sierra service manager keeping close watch on my rally placard
I would have been happy at this point for him to just drop me at the airport, where I could spend an hour or two waiting for my flight, but John was having none of that. He said I would be spending enough time in airports over the next few hours, so let’s hang out some more. We went to a cool pub with a cute barmaid, ordered a beer, used some wireless internet, and then went outside to watch the local yokels swimming in the Truckee River. When it was time to go, we went.
Reno with my junk in his car and a good brew in his hand.
The saga isn’t over yet. I’m writing this while traveling to Tulsa in three flight segments and a long layover at LAX. I’m writing it now while it’s fresh in my memory because the most important part of story has already happened. It is how well I was treated by Brad and John. These guys have taught me a lesson in how LDRiders take care of each other. I only hope I have the chance to repay them by helping another rider in distress in the same selfless and generous way. Thanks guys. You rock.
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