While attempting to winterize my motorcycle yesterday afternoon, I couldn’t help but to grin like an idiot over my last adventure that I took on this bike. It was about three weeks ago, on a Wednesday, when I chose to sleep in past 6:45 am, and thus drive to the University. On Wednesdays my only class is an hour-long Russian class that starts at 2:30 in the afternoon. I thought that it would be simple, but I was wrong. At least I left for class 2 hours early…
Unfortunately the night was anything but restful. I tossed and turned—never finding comfort—never settling my mind. My six hours of unconsciousness was riddled by constant awakening. Eventually the morning came and I got up and got ready. I accomplished some homework and cleaning before I decided to take off for the University. The only problem was that I couldn’t locate the key for the motorcycle. I searched all through the house—looking under beds and couches, on top of desks and dressers. My dad told me to ask my mom about it, so I did. Apparently Flo had taken it on Saturday to church and the nursing home. Why that key ventured around Elk River and Zimmerman is beyond me. With the help of my entire family, the key was discovered. My mom had placed it in her crochet bag.
After wrestling the bike out of the garage (no simple task), I couldn’t start it. I trotted into the house and grabbed the key for the Suburban and drove it down towards the motorcycle to jump start it. As it ran and warmed up, I went back into the house to collect all my things. At that point I realized that my headphones were broken. I had enough time, so I decided to head towards Wal-Mart to purchase another pair.
After maybe five minutes in the store, I came back out to the motorcycle only to find that it wouldn’t start again. Why? Hadn’t it had some time to recharge in my ten-minute trek across Elk River? Luckily there was a woman placing her cart in the return, so I asked her for help. She drove over to me and hooked up the jumper cables. It fired up instantly. Maybe I needed to drive it a little bit longer…
Apart from the dust and dirt blinding me every so often, the ride out of Elk River was nice. In Ramsey, as I was passing RV World, I felt something hit me in the left ankle. It didn’t hurt, but that was the strange part. What object could have hit me at that speed that I would have noticed it but not been hurt by it? Coming up on Armstrong Boulevard, I looked at the light and saw it was green. Feeling around and finally looking down, I found that the side panel that covers the battery had fallen off. When I looked up, the light was turning red. Thankfully the brakes were recently worked on. Despite the fishtailing and the racing heart, it was all good.
I turned around and drove back past RV World, until I found a spot to turn Southbound again. I kept my eyes on the side of the road ahead of me until the cover came into sight. With the blinker on, I pulled into the ditch, but dared not to shut the motorcycle down. Retrieving the side panel and putting it back on is unnerving as cars scream by on the highway.
When everything was secure, I jumped on the motorcycle and drove several more miles until I was approaching Sunfish Lake Boulevard. The light ahead was red. Traffic was stopped, so I grabbed the clutch and slowed down while downshifting the gears. What I assumed was neutral in actuality was 1st gear. So, when stopped behind someone at the light, I released the clutch which caused the bike to jump slightly and died. Unfortunately, I couldn't start it again, so I pushed it through the turn lane and into the median ditch. From the ditch I was able to get ahold of my mother for some assistance.
Needing to get to the Shell station to my left, I waited until the turn lane cleared and pushed the motorcycle onto the road and to the line. Unfortunately the light had turned red, so I took the bike onto the sidewalks. All the while, however, other bikers looked at me with disapproving glances, and truckers hollered at me from their perches to ride it… I am sure it looked like I stole the motorcycle.
At the gas station I took off my hoodie because it was a little warm in the sun pushing the bike. I didn’t want to loiter, so I decided to buy something to drink. As I was putting my hoodie in my bag, I realized that I could not find my motorcycle key anywhere (not like anyone was going to drive off with the motorcycle). Frantically passing around the store looking at the floor, a Latina woman working at the Cousins Subs counter asked if I had lost something. She told me to describe it. I told her it was a single key for my motorcycle with a rubber Goldy the Gopher keychain. She lifted the key from behind the register and my hopes from despair.
My mom showed up in Trav’s car several minutes later and we jumped the motorcycle again. From there I raced to Russian Class, where I was 15 minutes late.
After 35 minutes of Russian, I went back to Lot 37 to discover that the motorcycle, again, wouldn’t start. Luckily there was a line about a mile long again, so I started asking everyone if they had jumper cables. Amazingly no one did—not until the twentieth person. I found an off-duty service worker who could help me. And it was so simple. I could have jumped it with a AAA battery. Needless to say, I skipped filling it with gas and just drove it straight home.
