Janna
Bring more rat-free wine!
(Mods, any chance of fixing the *#&* subject line for me? It's Dave, not Dan.)
I had class at SF State today, so I headed out at 3 pm this afternoon from Vallejo. Yes, that's right, in that high wind and heavy downpour. I nearly got off the freeway and headed home several times, but I did make it to class. My waterproof boots were soaked through (right, Daytona, they're 100% waterproof--not!). My water-resistant gloves gave it up like a bar chick with one too many panty-peelers down her gullet. I did not dump the bike when I parked on the wet pine needles. I made it to workshop, and sat there for three hours in sopping-wet boots.
When it was time to head home, I walked to my bike, boots squelching with each step. I geared up, tugged my saturated gloves on with some difficulty, got my rain gear and safety vest on, and plugged in my heated jacket liner. I was well and truly miserable, but at least it wasn't raining anymore. I was low on gas--the gas light had come on with the on-off flicker when I pulled up to campus. That meant I had a gallon left, or at least 50 miles on the odometer, based on four years of riding that bike and keeping track when the gas light starts to flicker. I was wet and miserable, and 39 miles from home, so I decided to head back, and if the light went on solid, which means Get Gas Now, I would get off the road and find a gas station.
The traffic was gnarly heading back on 280, so I had to lane-split all the way up to the approach to the Bay Bridge. Got on the Bridge, things were still a bit clogged but moving at the speed limit, got on 80 East, traffic wasn't bad...rain started to fall again, and it was darker than normal because of daylight savings time, and I couldn't wait to get home. The gas indicator light was still pulsing on-off, not solid. I was in the leftmost lane, got to the Carquinez Bridge, and halfway across, the bike started to lose power.
No. Hell no. Not on the bridge... not on the worst possible place to run out of gas... I laid on the horn, downshifted, and the bike picked up power again. At least I'd make it to the parking lot on the left, I thought.
Wrong. The bike lost power again and then died completely. The shoulder was up ahead, about 10 or 15 car lengths ahead of me. I've got my right foot on the foot peg, my left foot shoving off hard on the concrete curb, pushing my bike forward in the dark. I'm holding the horn button down solid, honking non-stop, but that horn is piddly and about as attention-getting as a Corgi with its head stuck in a Pringles can.
And then... my truck-driving guardian angel appeared. On my right, a sturdy blond guy in a BIG-ass black pickup truck pulled alongside me, stuck out his arm (clad in flannel, no less) and said, "Take my hand!" I heard the rest in my head.. ("...if you want to live."). So I grabbed his arm with my right hand and he drove next to me slowly, pulling me and my bike off the bridge to the wide shoulder before the parking lot.
"Did you crash?"
"No, I ran out of gas." Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Hop in. I'll take you to the gas station up the way and bring you back."
So I climbed up in his big old truck. He said that he rode. I asked him what kind of bike he had.
"An R6, but it's in pieces. Messed up bad."
"What happened?"
"Oh, I was trying to stunt. I will tell you, though... alcohol WAS involved."
rofl)
I found out he was a trucker by trade. He brought me to the gas station, helped me fill the gas can with gas, drove back across the bridge the other way, pulled around and came back across the bridge again to my bike (which was unharmed), and he even put the gas in my bike for me.
If it weren't for this stranger putting his vehicle at risk to protect me, I would probably be the subject of some Rider Down post right now, with a cut-and-pasted CHP log telling the tale in shorthand.
So if you're out there at night on the road near Vallejo, know that Trucker Dave is out there, keeping an eye out for stranded motorcyclists. Trucker Dave, if you read this somehow, I owe you a BIG-ass beer. Thanks, man. Coming home safely, kissing my man, and nuzzling a warm kitten belly never felt so good.
I have learned several things. The first is that you can't count on a bike's indicators to always work like they have always done (the gas light never went solid, so I can't rely on that ever again; the number of miles you expect to get out of a tank ain't always what you're GONNA get) Secondly, things like lane splitting can affect your gas mileage enough to make you run out of gas sooner than you would expect. And last but not least: don't be a *#$*ing moron like me--never run your tank low, especially on a rainy night.
I had class at SF State today, so I headed out at 3 pm this afternoon from Vallejo. Yes, that's right, in that high wind and heavy downpour. I nearly got off the freeway and headed home several times, but I did make it to class. My waterproof boots were soaked through (right, Daytona, they're 100% waterproof--not!). My water-resistant gloves gave it up like a bar chick with one too many panty-peelers down her gullet. I did not dump the bike when I parked on the wet pine needles. I made it to workshop, and sat there for three hours in sopping-wet boots.
When it was time to head home, I walked to my bike, boots squelching with each step. I geared up, tugged my saturated gloves on with some difficulty, got my rain gear and safety vest on, and plugged in my heated jacket liner. I was well and truly miserable, but at least it wasn't raining anymore. I was low on gas--the gas light had come on with the on-off flicker when I pulled up to campus. That meant I had a gallon left, or at least 50 miles on the odometer, based on four years of riding that bike and keeping track when the gas light starts to flicker. I was wet and miserable, and 39 miles from home, so I decided to head back, and if the light went on solid, which means Get Gas Now, I would get off the road and find a gas station.
The traffic was gnarly heading back on 280, so I had to lane-split all the way up to the approach to the Bay Bridge. Got on the Bridge, things were still a bit clogged but moving at the speed limit, got on 80 East, traffic wasn't bad...rain started to fall again, and it was darker than normal because of daylight savings time, and I couldn't wait to get home. The gas indicator light was still pulsing on-off, not solid. I was in the leftmost lane, got to the Carquinez Bridge, and halfway across, the bike started to lose power.
No. Hell no. Not on the bridge... not on the worst possible place to run out of gas... I laid on the horn, downshifted, and the bike picked up power again. At least I'd make it to the parking lot on the left, I thought.
Wrong. The bike lost power again and then died completely. The shoulder was up ahead, about 10 or 15 car lengths ahead of me. I've got my right foot on the foot peg, my left foot shoving off hard on the concrete curb, pushing my bike forward in the dark. I'm holding the horn button down solid, honking non-stop, but that horn is piddly and about as attention-getting as a Corgi with its head stuck in a Pringles can.
And then... my truck-driving guardian angel appeared. On my right, a sturdy blond guy in a BIG-ass black pickup truck pulled alongside me, stuck out his arm (clad in flannel, no less) and said, "Take my hand!" I heard the rest in my head.. ("...if you want to live."). So I grabbed his arm with my right hand and he drove next to me slowly, pulling me and my bike off the bridge to the wide shoulder before the parking lot.
"Did you crash?"
"No, I ran out of gas." Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Hop in. I'll take you to the gas station up the way and bring you back."
So I climbed up in his big old truck. He said that he rode. I asked him what kind of bike he had.
"An R6, but it's in pieces. Messed up bad."
"What happened?"
"Oh, I was trying to stunt. I will tell you, though... alcohol WAS involved."
rofl)I found out he was a trucker by trade. He brought me to the gas station, helped me fill the gas can with gas, drove back across the bridge the other way, pulled around and came back across the bridge again to my bike (which was unharmed), and he even put the gas in my bike for me.
If it weren't for this stranger putting his vehicle at risk to protect me, I would probably be the subject of some Rider Down post right now, with a cut-and-pasted CHP log telling the tale in shorthand.
So if you're out there at night on the road near Vallejo, know that Trucker Dave is out there, keeping an eye out for stranded motorcyclists. Trucker Dave, if you read this somehow, I owe you a BIG-ass beer. Thanks, man. Coming home safely, kissing my man, and nuzzling a warm kitten belly never felt so good.
I have learned several things. The first is that you can't count on a bike's indicators to always work like they have always done (the gas light never went solid, so I can't rely on that ever again; the number of miles you expect to get out of a tank ain't always what you're GONNA get) Secondly, things like lane splitting can affect your gas mileage enough to make you run out of gas sooner than you would expect. And last but not least: don't be a *#$*ing moron like me--never run your tank low, especially on a rainy night.
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