"Best laid schemes of mice and men/ Often go awry" - John Steinbeck
Eric and I decided to take Labor Day weekend away from our families and go for a ride of epic intent. Two goals were agreed upon: 1) attempt a SaddleSore and 2) ride through seven new states.
SaddleSore is an endurance test on your motorcycle. It is one of several activities that people can engage in to acquire the moniker of an Iron Butt. SaddleSore is achieved when you ride 1,000 miles in a 24 hour period. There are strict rules and regulations that are involved with acquiring a SaddleSore certificate. You can read all about it here. We felt that working towards this endeavor first and then spend the rest of the weekend traveling to new states on our motorcycles was the best plan.
The forces of nature had something to say about our so-called, "Plans". Rain does not necessary deter me from riding- that's why I bought all my gear with Gore-Tex (super-duper waterproof material that 'breathes'). However, hail does bring about a certain amount of trepidation. Riding at seventy miles per hour with golfball-sized chunks of ice flying at you gives the mind pause. Yet, bravado sometimes trumps sense, and I packed my bags with the intention of riding and headed to Eric's house.
Once there, after pouring over weather maps we decided that we would forgo riding through a total of eleven states and only ride on Sunday with the hopes of unlocking our SaddleSore achievement. The weather was too horrendous. Drinks and merriment were had to celebrate our mature decision of not being struck my chunks of ice.
All systems were a go on Sunday. We woke early, left at our decided time of 4:30 AM. We stopped at the gas station where I added air to my tires, fueled up, and had our SaddleSore documentation signed by a witness (Brandy) with a time stamped receipt to designate our starting time. The Iron Butt rules are rigorous, and they take up to three months to verify your claims.
Riding early in morning on US 190 was a very vitalizing experience. The outline of the trees (cypress, I believe) in the night sky is haunting and beautiful. There was an element of fear due to the darkness, but it heightens your awareness of your surroundings. For several hours the landscape changed from Atchafalaya Basin wildlife preserve to small towns. That juxtaposition is lost when traveling the straight and narrows of interstate paths. For me, it gives me a sense of the evolution of villages, towns, and cities. Back roads remind me of the greater world that exist outside of the city that I live in, and how we are interconnected. These are the thoughts that roll through my head as we travel.
We crossed into Texas with the dawn horizon to our backs. I was excited. We were going to start heading north up East Texas to Oklahoma before turning around and headed back to Baton Rouge. About twenty miles into Texas, we stopped for some gas, a digital receipt, and a bathroom break.
All things seemed to be in order. Heading north, I noticed a disturbing sound and feel from my motorcycle. It was almost a pulling sensation. I flashed my lights to notify Eric, and immediately pulled over. My first thought was that something was dragging against my back wheel. We took turns riding and looking. I removed my rear guard, but that did not abate the problem. Eric suggested we get off the side of the road and headed back to a parking lot to safely work on the motorcycle.
We parked next to a non descriptor red, aluminum barn*. I was focused on trying to fix the problem- the SaddleSore was at stake. We had only traveled about 220 miles. Since the rear guard did not appear to be the problem, the next thought was that there was something wrong with the back brakes. I pulled out my half-charged phone (didn't think I would need a full charge), and started reading about how to remove your bake breaks. Eric was reviewing some technical information as well. These are good signs of mechanical prowess, right? I got the back brake off and we started the motorcycle, but the jerking was still occurring.
This is where the mechanical declined person makes a bad situation worse. My motorcycle has a computer on it that basically does a lot of really cool things. One of the things it does is not start if there is a problem with your brakes. In all my tinkering, I had, probably, most likely, broke my calipers. Now my motorcycle would not even start. So, we were stranded in the middle of Bruna, Texas, twenty minutes from Beaumont on a Sunday. We had luckily packed some sandwiches and snacks.
We tried calling motorcycle shops in Beaumont on Sunday, the day before Labor Day. Yes, nothing was open. We started calling friends and family to see if we could get someone with a truck and/or trailer to come and pick us up. However, an idea was born- rent a U-haul to strap both bikes in it and drive back home. U-haul was open, which was promising. Eric called the 1-800 number to rent a truck. They had a truck large enough to fit both our bikes. Things were looking up for us because we could get our bikes together and tow them back for relatively cheap without inconveniencing anybody.
Eric drove to the rental place. They did have a truck large enough, but it wasn't going to be available until 4:45 PM. The shop closed at 5:00 PM. The next day was Labor Day. Things were not looking promising. It was about 10:30 AM, and we had been at the same location for about two to three hours. Waiting there until nearly 5:00 PM for a 'maybe' truck did not sound like a good idea. Honestly, I thought we were up a creek without a paddle or piece of board or a boat.
Cue heavenly music.
The newly minted Mrs. Malatesta's mother and step-father had recently acquired a trailer. They lived about ninety minutes from our current location, and were generous enough to offer to come a pick us up form Nowhere, Texas. I am incredibly grateful for this generous act- seriously. The rest of trip went back without a any problems and we arrived safely back in Baton Rouge well ahead of schedule.
The trip was initially to be a nearly epic 2,000 mile trek through eleven states with a SaddleSore involved. Then it was reduced to getting only a SaddleSore in one day to riding. Finally, it devolved to 220 miles and spending six hours on the side of the road next to a drive-thru beer shop.
Until I ramble on again. . .
*The aluminum barn was a drive-thru for beer. People would literally drive-thru the middle of the barn and someone would grab them the beer, ice, or snacks that they wanted pay and drive out without ever leaving the coziness of one's car.