Ok, so it really didn't die completely, but just read on jerks...
We wake up at like 6:30am. Damnit Drewpy has the most annoying alarm on his phone... it seriously made me want to bite the heads of kittens.
We get up, throw our stinky leathers back on, load the bikes, and hit the road. The night before, Drewpy was on the horn with Psychochild getting directions to the Harley-Buell dealers in Colorado Springs.
Long story short, my bike was running REALLY bad for this final 70 miles. It was running so rich that we could smell gas coming out of the exhaust. There were points in time in which I couldn't shift gears because the change in RPM would cause the bike to nearly stall. Uphill sections we rolled along at like 35mph (in a 65) and some downhill sections we managed to nearly hit the speed limit. It BLEW.
Finally I made the decision that I needed to get more air into the system, otherwise I wasn't going to make it. I pulled over and removed the airbox completely, just running straight air filter. It helped slightly, but the thin mountain air combined with an ECM that thought it constantly needed more fuel proved to be a terrible combination.
Maybe Drewpy counted, but I didn't... just how many times did I run out of gas? Who fucking knows. All I know is I started the trip doing 50 or more miles per gallon and by the time I made it to the first dealership in CO Springs, I was probably doing about 8mpg... and the bike was PISSED.
We make it to Colorado Springs Harley Davidson! Only three hours after we left! (70 miles in 3 hours
)Woo Hoo! Walk up to the service guy and start to explain the situation... "oh, we stopped doing Buells a couple months ago... You'll have to go to Pike's Peak HD across town." Recognize that if this had occurred 5 years or so ago, I would have simply gone into my saddle bag, got out the .40 and unloaded a magazine into this motherfucker. That's probably why I didn't buy a gun back then.
He gives us directions and we blub across town to the other dealer. I walk inside and am greeted by a cute, bubbly, redheaded sales girl and explain my situation (you know by this time I was REAL fucking sick of telling the story). I hook up with the service department and they agree to squeeze me in.
Drewpy and I sit around there with our thumbs up our asses talking to different people and he notices this 954RR just chillin' there. He asks Danica (the sales girl) if it's for sale and she says it is. Of course now Drewpy, who's all about spending other people's money (aren't we all) is trying to talk me into buying it... "Dude, it's got Vortex rearsets, full Micron exhaust, probably a Power Commander, stainless brake lines, etc, etc." Whatever, it's an RR and I'm a streetfighter guy... polished, pretty, and perfect is just not me. Ugly, gnarley, and beat up... is.
Throughout the time at the dealer as the techs are scratching their heads trying to figure this thing out, we meet some pretty cool people. Cody, a sales guy, is an ex-racer, a wise-ass, and has some funny stories. That motherfucker BETTER join. Ned was a guy who rode up on one of those KTM adventure tourers and gave Drewpy some good roads to check out on our way through Arkansas. It'd be cool to see that guy here too.
Anyway, the day wears on and no luck with the bike. The realization that it is probably something in the wiring brings about the brutal fact that I'm probably not riding it out of Colorado Springs that day... or any day in the relatively near future. Could be found in 10 minutes, could take 40 hours.
As the reality of the situation sinks in, the 954 seems like more and more of a realistic option. I don't really have the money for that shit, but I don't fear debt so fuck it. We talk to the sales manager... get him to offer us the bike at what he had in it (trade in he gave the previous owner and maintenance - tires). An '02 with only 2,600 miles on it... not bad, but I hate these bikes. Especially one where the previous owner was obviously a parking lot queen who put all this high end shit on it and never rode it. Plus, it has red carbon fiber all over it, and the douchenozzle plained his name next to the windscreen.
Let's give the techs more time.
Well, at $89/hr you only have so much time before it stops being worth it. For me, that was the 4 hour mark. 'Go ahead and stop working on the bike, I'll make arrangements to have it picked up.' Combined with the fact that I knew I really could not rationalize buying a new bike, the sinking feeling that my trip was coming to an end burned a hole right through me. I think I might vomit.
Looking for some sage advice I called my father. The only thing that I really heard when we spoke was, "remember, a bad day on a motorcycle trip is better than a good day at work." I was beginning to wonder.
I called my uncle just outside of Denver and he agreed to come pick me and my heap up. I told Drewpy that this was it and I was going home... he should go ahead and go on to Alberquerque. For whatever reason, he didn't.
Couldn't have been 20 minutes later... Rick, one of the sales guys comes to me and says, "I think we could take your bike on trade for that Honda." Been there, thought of that... 'Dude, it's a salvage bike, I have no title with me, and no registration either.' "I think we still might be able to do it."
He goes and talks to a few people and they give me the lowdown on what they can do. They can trade in the bike without any of that shit (cause they really felt for me I suppose), but can only give me half of NADA. Well, once I got the insurance money and whatnot, I really didn't have much in the thing... despite the fact that I just spent a bunch of money fixing it up. First, they say they could do $2600, but they wanted to talk to their broker to see if they could get more for me. The broker must have told them they were retarded cause he said no more than $2k. I should have just said yes to the first offer.
Ugh...
I call my uncle... "I'm glad you haven't left yet... I'm buying a new bike."
I'll be honest, it's a pretty sick feeling when you give up a machine that you've put so much blood, sweat, and tears into... for something that you really don't like. I was honestly queezy as I sat there signing the papers. Fuck it. That's the price you pay if you want to finish your cross country motorcycle trip I guess.
Now I am the proud owner of a 2002 Honda 954RR and another monthly payment.
We are literally the last people out of the dealer. We are loading up our bikes as the last guy drives off the lot. A guy on a Victory and his kid on an old ZX11 pull up just as we're getting ready to leave. We tell them our story and where we are headed, and they offer to escort us out of town through some semi-twisty roads. I don't remember if we gave them TWFix cards or not.
As I pull out of the lot... and stall... I realize that I didn't even bother to test ride the bike before buying it. Have I said, 'Fuck It' yet? Cause it's fitting for pretty much most of the decisions I made throughout this trip.
We end up at this little Mexican restaurant just outside CO Springs around 8:30 or so. Food was good, decor was... interesting, and we struck up a conversation with a guy at another table. Turns out dude was a cop and he knew the roads we were about to go on. He discouraged us greatly for a number of reasons... one was a lack of gas stations that would be open late. Another was because the one town was particularly seedy. 'Well, we aren't completely defenseless', Drewpy said. "Let's put it this way, I'm law enforcement and I wouldn't go there at night."
Great. 'Well where should we go?' "About 50 miles back to CO Springs and get on the highway." Jesus fucking Christ.
So of course, after debating back and forth over the course of action for a half hour or so, we decide to hit the highway and catch up with Nighthawk and Gramps. Turns out, they hadn't made it to Alberquerque either and were in Las Vegas... Not the good Las Vegas... the shitball one in New Mexico... and that's where we were headed as well.
We hit the highway, tired, semi-delirious, and pumped up on energy drinks. We blast away having a little liter-bike triple digit fun along the way... Just outside of New Mexico we start experiencing severe wind gusts. Nothing like we've ever seen before.
Gusts were in the 40-50mph range. They would hit hard and without warning, sometimes pushing you completely into the other lane. Temps dropped and the gusts got more and more consistent. We pushed ahead to Trinidad CO, pulling over to take a break.
Thank god we didn't need gas, cause it was just after midnight and this town was turned off. Completely. We noted that our bikes had chicken strips in the middle of the tires from being leaned over so far while riding straight. It was crazy, but made for cool pictures.
Speaking of crazy, while at this gas station two cars pull up next to eachother beside the building... looked like your standard drug deal. I go to the otherside of the building to take a wizz... no sooner had I zipped up my fly, then a cop drives right in front of me from the backside of the building. I scramble around front and the drug transaction ends and everyone drives off in separate directions... cops included.
We continue on our journey down into New Mexico... The highway starts to weave between rock formations and has some big sweeping curves... It' being late as hell and in the middle of nowhere, we start turning up the heat a little bit and start running race lines across all three lanes of the highway. Pretty fun, but the dead elk smeared across the roadway and the numerous signs warning of elk on the road gave it a slightly ominous undertone.
At 4:30am we arrive in Las Vegas NM. Worn down, totally spaced out, and near the point of hallucinations (exhaustion + stress + cold + high speeds = massive mind games). We pull up to the Super 8 motel and park on the other side of the entrance, with Nighhawk and Gramps' rigs on the other side. Drewpy goes in and finds out they are in room 204... of course, upstairs. We haul all of our shit up as quietly as possible, I take the floor, Drewpy takes the 3rd bed. I remember thinking that the room was ridiculously hot, then ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz....