A Fool's Progress: Knackered in Knoxville

Yesterday was grand. I got up and checked the tire. It seemed to be holding air, so I loded up and bailed on the Gaptoothed Motel. If the tire held enough air to get me to better lodgings, I would be pleased.

I orbited Kingsport a couple times and the tire was holding up. Hell with it, I'm going to go play. I headed into the mountains via Roan mountain and spent the day wandering back roads in North Carolina and Tennessee. Man what lovely riding. The scenery is stunning. The roads are well maintained and well designed. My only complaint was not enough places to pull over for pictures. I was gentle with the riding for a couuple reasons...4500 miles of gentle corners had me a bit off my Ricky Racer mode. And just about every corner dropped the visibility to about 20'. That's a bit close for encountering a tractor, cow or Buick. I have never seen so many Buicks in my life. And they are the bane of riders. Only below motorhomes in that you can atleast see around them to make a double yellow pass. But I was not the fastest on the mountain by no means. I was busy rubbernecking too. So I did pull into driveways quite often to let speedier locals get by me.

Every corner held a beautiful view or a scattering of homes that I would picture myself And family living in. You simply cannot pick a bad road out there. I enjoyed waving at folks relaxing on thier respective porches. Friendly folks out here.

When Mister GPS told me I would be hitting Knoxville in the early evening, I headed toward I-81 to make it there for the night. I was planning on hitting Knoxville and then on to Chattanooga the following day to find a bike shop and get a new pair of tubes.

I noticed I was passing close to Davey Crocketts Birthplace Park. What the hell. I pointed Mister GPS at it and went for it. When I got to the spot marked as the Park...all I saw was an open field and a doublewide. I guess the joke was on me...

About then is when what had been a perfect day went south.

I had gotten some bad directions from Mister GPS and had just gotten myself turned around and in the right direction when I hit a rough construction zone and the Q started wallowing. Shit..flat.

So I found a spot and pulled all the junk off the bike and pulled the wheel. 80 degrees 90% humidity. In no time I was pouring sweat. But I am good at thie tire stuff now. Bust the bead. Spoon a bead free. Pull the tube. Spoon the tire free. Inspect the tube. Eh? No hole I can find. Ib pump the tube up and let it sit. 20 minutes later...no air loss. Damn. I should have tried inflating it first. I get the hoop back together. Talcum in the tire. Put the tube in the tire, slightly inflated. Smear some camp suds on the bead. Start spooning. Back together it seemed to be ok.

With the sun setting as a small dark orange orb, I headed to Knoxville. Stopping every 20 miles or so to check the pressure I hit the east side of Knoxville. But I had no particular destination for lodging. So I headed out to make the far side of Knoxville and the likely cluster of super 8s and the like. Just as I got to the "West Hills" area I hit heavy construction zones, In no time at all, I could hear the heavy zipper noise of the under inflated treads pounding the pavement. I grabbed the next exit because there is no place to pull over.

Sure enough, down to 15 psi. Aired up again, I went looking for the hotels I saw from the freeway. They are hidden back from the main road here so it took a while to locate the place. As I rolled in, the tire was low on PSI again. I was done in at this point.

I dragged myself into the hotel room and then aired up the tire again. It seems to be a leak that only shows when all the weight of me and the gear hits a rough surface adding to the weight momentarily.

As I inspected the bike, depression set in. I refer to the bike as the BIR; Big Italian Redhead. But lately it is more Peg Bundy than Sophia Loren. As I aired up the wheel, I found evidence of a final drive leak. No much...just a few splatter marks. It couold be that I tightened the axle too much and put or relieved pressure on the seal. There is also evidence of a bit of transmission leakage in the form of a weep mark around the flywheel timing mark port and the bellhousing hole on the bottom. Not enough to form an actual drip mark on the pavement and the clutch is acting normally. But it is worrisome. And for the past couple days it has been reluctant to catch fire and run when cold. That could be a number of things, But I wonder if the hall sensor is contaminated. Once warm, it runs great.

Nothing to do for it but do some basic PM. Top up the oil. make sure the tranny and final drive are oiled up. Adjust the valves. Inspect spark plugs.

So as I sat here in this Super 8 alternately looking at the rain outside, the weather channel and thinking about the bike...I was ready to throw in the towel. I am fed up, tired, sore and thinking of home. Not one of the plans I made have worked out: Ambo? Dead. Wander northern Idaho and Montana? Skipped to save time to make the wifes bday. Circle the great lakes? Also skipped for the same reason. Wander the Appalacians? Ernesto kicked that in the mud. Wander the southwest? Looks like it is getting pounded by rain. Ironically the pacific northwest is dry and sunny. Yeah I was ready to dial up Allied Van lines and call a cab to the airport.

Thos worries had kept me up all night trying to sleep. I finally conked out at 4 AM. I went over to the Waffle House (nasty greasy breakfasts) for some food and coffee. I ended up conversing with a fellow at the counter. He did a bicycle trip some years back from Atlanta to Seattle. He regailed me with his trials and tribulations. Broken spokes. Sometimes half a dozen flats a day. Sleeping in corn fields because he was miles and miles from a hotel. it made my worries seem pretty minor.

After breakfast I thought about it. I am reminded of the White Fleet, which my great grandfather sailed with. Teddy Roosevelt wanted to send the US Navy around the world as a "goodwill" tour which wqas really a display of the iron fist within the velvet glove. I dont see anything on the web about it, but the tale that I got was that congress didnt want to send the fleet, so Teddy had the ships painted and sent on his own dime. They got halfway around the world when he informed Congress that he no longer had the funds to pay for the return and if they wantedf the ships back, they had better dig in to some pockets. I dont know if that is true...but it is a parable of my own situation. I am some 2500 miles from home and feeling a bit stranded. Time to dig in and find some reserves.

So I resolved to just keep going. Out of complete stubborn pride if nothing else. I'll go until the bike drops. I'll head toward MPH Cycles in texas to see if they can give it the once over. But I'm not quitting yet. If the bike quits on me, I'll deal with that then.

For now, I sit. Bored out of my mind in knoxville, waiting for bike shops to open tomorrow. But hey. I got beer, net and HBO.