The weather was perfect.
Thirty miles south of Flagstaff, just before the top of I-17’s last major grade climbing out of Verde Valley, I'd passed a semi when Nada 3's power output abruptly decreased by exactly 50%.
I thought, “There goes another set of exhaust valves.”
FLASHBACK: Return to Malfunction Junction Revisited
BACK TO SCENE
I swung into the right lane, then to the shoulder, allowed the semi to go by.
After confirming I could still maintain freeway speed, I moved back into the right lane and continued to town.
Unlike previous episodes of this nature, I failed to limp Nada 3 all the way to my destination. The succession of stoplights on Rte. 66 finally did her in a mere three blocks from the Hotel Monte Vista, at which point the engine sputtered to a halt and refused to restart. I pushed the bike uphill a few yards to the Flagstaff Chamber of Commerce parking lot.
Thirty miles south of Flagstaff, just before the top of I-17’s last major grade climbing out of Verde Valley, I'd passed a semi when Nada 3's power output abruptly decreased by exactly 50%.
I thought, “There goes another set of exhaust valves.”
FLASHBACK: Return to Malfunction Junction Revisited
BACK TO SCENE
I swung into the right lane, then to the shoulder, allowed the semi to go by.
After confirming I could still maintain freeway speed, I moved back into the right lane and continued to town.
Unlike previous episodes of this nature, I failed to limp Nada 3 all the way to my destination. The succession of stoplights on Rte. 66 finally did her in a mere three blocks from the Hotel Monte Vista, at which point the engine sputtered to a halt and refused to restart. I pushed the bike uphill a few yards to the Flagstaff Chamber of Commerce parking lot.
An ignominious end to Nada 3's reprise.
An old guy of clearly limited means walked past, commenting cheerily that it was a very nice day.
I had to agree.
He descended the slope of rubble off the end of the lot and disappeared under a trestle beneath the adjacent railroad tracks.
I began unstrapping luggage. By the time all my loose gear was in a convenient pile near the front wheel, my good-natured acquaintance reappeared, no doubt freshly relieved of a biological obligation. He offered the same meteorological opinion he had previously, to which I again voiced assent.
I wasn’t particularly peeved about the situation.
It was all First World Problems.
I called Gary and asked if he might effect a rescue.
Turned out he had reason to go to Flagstaff, but not a reason quite good enough by itself, so my request filled a need.
I’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t used the phrase, “And then I’ll drag your sorry ass back to Phoenix.”
Next I called a cab, whose driver didn’t really want to take money to drive me to a destination that was only a five minute walk. I explained I had a big pile of stuff to carry.
At the Monte Vista I transferred the pile to the mail room, as has become my habit. Comfortably dressed, laptop slung over my shoulder, I was ready to kill several hours waiting for check-in time, which time period I'd originally planned to spend in my hammock outside the Lowell Observatory.
I stepped confidently across the street to execute the first hour.
I’d gotten a later start from mom’s than I’d intended, but that and the delay engendered by Nada 3's engine failure would now prove to my advantage: Swaddee Thai should be open for lunch right about about...now.
And it would have been…if this was any day but Monday.
Sigh. Yet another first world problem.
A block and a half in the other direction, Downtown Diner served bottomless coffee and heuvos rancheros almost just the way I like it.
When I perceived they wanted my table open, I walked over to Beaver Street and checked the Chamber of Commerce, which was still locked up tight. I continued south until I saw a sign with the word “brewery”.
I was surprised Beaver Street Brewery was already open, and that it was even open on Monday, but was promptly seated on the patio and served the first of a series of pints of Railroad Red.
I began writing dispatches – after first calling the Chamber of Commerce where somebody working from home, I guess, said she’d contact whoever could ensure my motorcycle wouldn’t be towed before I moved it myself.
*
Although my Thai fix had been thwarted earlier in the day, I was satisfied that evening by treating Eric and Jen to dinner at Pato Thai – not across the street, but rather just around the corner, from the Monte Vista.
I couldn’t finish my pad woon sene, which was excellent, though not quite as complex as that served by Swaddee. But even before sitting down I was engorged by all those Railroad Reds, plus a Kilt Lifter served by Caelan at Rendezvous who remembered me from a couple weeks before – though he didn’t recall my name.
After dinner I was so bloated all I felt like doing was flopping on my bed in the Air Supply room, which wasn’t nearly as nice as the Debbie Reynolds, let alone the Jack Daniels suite.
Larry definitely would not have approved of the room, given it was totally impossible to see a motorcycle parked behind the Chamber of Commerce.
More first world problems.
*
I had nearly until check out time before Gary would arrive. This gave me time for another leisurely breakfast at Downtown Diner, and to spend the rest of the morning writing while looking down at the street from the open window of the Air Supply room.
When Gary arrived, we transferred my pile of gear into his Silverado, then went over to the Chamber of Commerce and loaded Nada 3. We then drove a few blocks north to take care of Gary's “not quite good enough by itself” reason to drive to Flagstaff.
His mission was to test ride an electric mountain bike. He came, he rode, he purchased. It was soon loaded alongside Nada 3 and looks like a lot of fun!
I wasn’t all that hungry but Gary was, so I treated him at Casa Duarte, located on the back side of the medical complex in whose parking lot he'd tested and bought the bike. Sitting on the patio, almost everyone we watched come and go was wearing scrubs.
Then it was descent into Phoenix, and extraction of Nada 3 from his pickup at mom’s house. This activity fortunately did not result in the machine rolling off the ramp, due entirely to what I’d have thought an impossible application of muscular effort on Gary’s part.
It was another heat advisory day and once the bike was in the garage I could do little more than move into mom's A/C, turn on the ceiling fan for good measure, and collapse in a recliner.
Repacking my gear onto Therese for the morrow's return to Michigan would have to wait.
I had to agree.
He descended the slope of rubble off the end of the lot and disappeared under a trestle beneath the adjacent railroad tracks.
I began unstrapping luggage. By the time all my loose gear was in a convenient pile near the front wheel, my good-natured acquaintance reappeared, no doubt freshly relieved of a biological obligation. He offered the same meteorological opinion he had previously, to which I again voiced assent.
I wasn’t particularly peeved about the situation.
It was all First World Problems.
I called Gary and asked if he might effect a rescue.
Turned out he had reason to go to Flagstaff, but not a reason quite good enough by itself, so my request filled a need.
I’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t used the phrase, “And then I’ll drag your sorry ass back to Phoenix.”
Next I called a cab, whose driver didn’t really want to take money to drive me to a destination that was only a five minute walk. I explained I had a big pile of stuff to carry.
At the Monte Vista I transferred the pile to the mail room, as has become my habit. Comfortably dressed, laptop slung over my shoulder, I was ready to kill several hours waiting for check-in time, which time period I'd originally planned to spend in my hammock outside the Lowell Observatory.
I stepped confidently across the street to execute the first hour.
I’d gotten a later start from mom’s than I’d intended, but that and the delay engendered by Nada 3's engine failure would now prove to my advantage: Swaddee Thai should be open for lunch right about about...now.
And it would have been…if this was any day but Monday.
Sigh. Yet another first world problem.
A block and a half in the other direction, Downtown Diner served bottomless coffee and heuvos rancheros almost just the way I like it.
When I perceived they wanted my table open, I walked over to Beaver Street and checked the Chamber of Commerce, which was still locked up tight. I continued south until I saw a sign with the word “brewery”.
I was surprised Beaver Street Brewery was already open, and that it was even open on Monday, but was promptly seated on the patio and served the first of a series of pints of Railroad Red.
I began writing dispatches – after first calling the Chamber of Commerce where somebody working from home, I guess, said she’d contact whoever could ensure my motorcycle wouldn’t be towed before I moved it myself.
*
Although my Thai fix had been thwarted earlier in the day, I was satisfied that evening by treating Eric and Jen to dinner at Pato Thai – not across the street, but rather just around the corner, from the Monte Vista.
I couldn’t finish my pad woon sene, which was excellent, though not quite as complex as that served by Swaddee. But even before sitting down I was engorged by all those Railroad Reds, plus a Kilt Lifter served by Caelan at Rendezvous who remembered me from a couple weeks before – though he didn’t recall my name.
After dinner I was so bloated all I felt like doing was flopping on my bed in the Air Supply room, which wasn’t nearly as nice as the Debbie Reynolds, let alone the Jack Daniels suite.
Larry definitely would not have approved of the room, given it was totally impossible to see a motorcycle parked behind the Chamber of Commerce.
More first world problems.
*
I had nearly until check out time before Gary would arrive. This gave me time for another leisurely breakfast at Downtown Diner, and to spend the rest of the morning writing while looking down at the street from the open window of the Air Supply room.
When Gary arrived, we transferred my pile of gear into his Silverado, then went over to the Chamber of Commerce and loaded Nada 3. We then drove a few blocks north to take care of Gary's “not quite good enough by itself” reason to drive to Flagstaff.
His mission was to test ride an electric mountain bike. He came, he rode, he purchased. It was soon loaded alongside Nada 3 and looks like a lot of fun!
I wasn’t all that hungry but Gary was, so I treated him at Casa Duarte, located on the back side of the medical complex in whose parking lot he'd tested and bought the bike. Sitting on the patio, almost everyone we watched come and go was wearing scrubs.
Then it was descent into Phoenix, and extraction of Nada 3 from his pickup at mom’s house. This activity fortunately did not result in the machine rolling off the ramp, due entirely to what I’d have thought an impossible application of muscular effort on Gary’s part.
It was another heat advisory day and once the bike was in the garage I could do little more than move into mom's A/C, turn on the ceiling fan for good measure, and collapse in a recliner.
Repacking my gear onto Therese for the morrow's return to Michigan would have to wait.
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