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It all started with a simple question...Anyone interested in a GS get together in Red River Gorge, Kentucky?
I had been looking forward to this event since, well, snow was still on the ground. I didnt even have a running GS at the time (my cafe, which at the time was my ONLY GS, was still in pieces in my basement) but I thought, that come summer, this was going to be something great. Even if it was just a couple of guys, riding around in the gorge for the weekend. I didnt think there would be as much interest as turned out....
I left my home in Dayton, Ohio at about 8:45 or so on the Thursday before the day the Inaugural Semi-Anual Red River Rally was supposed to start. I was late. But I had been up late, and decided the extra hour of sleep was necessary in order to avoid being a sleepy rider. Safety first, yanno. I had everything packed up, so this morning, it was simply a matter of hooking up my tank bag, and cargo netting my backpack to the seat, and off I went. I was fully charged, excited and making fantastic time down 68 headed toward the Aberdeen, Ohio area, where I would cross the river into Kentucky on my route to meet up with Mike Riddle (MRiddle) in Morehead, and from there, we would travel on to the Gorge.
The sun was bright in the sky, and it wasnt quite hot yet, but it was already headed that way, and I could tell, if it didnt rain, as the weather guessers had said it wouldnt, it was going to be a scorcher this weekend. I had my iPod going, and some Steely Dan in my ears, smooth easy funky jazz to bop down the road too. I was already having a fantastic time, and I was only doing 65 on a pretty straight road.
I hit Aberdeen about 11, and by my figures, even though i had started an hour later than I had hoped, I was still on schedule. The plan was to meet up with Mike in Morehead at around 12 or 12:30 for lunch. I stopped at a little gas station along the river to refuel myself with fluid, and to call Mike to let him know I was still on time, even though I had left late. In talking to him, he let me know that HE was a bit behind schedule but only by 20 minutes or so, so I should not hurry. After I hung up the phone with him, I gave myself some extra butt rest time, as I had done 100 miles in one stretch without stopping. Normally, this wasnt too bad, but with the extra stuff strapped to my seat, there wasnt much wiggle room left on it, so I didnt really get to get off the pressure points. I drank my Gatorade, and consulted my map again. I had just come home this way from Mikes area not two weeks ago, so the route was pretty fresh in my memory, but no harm in double checking myself.
After about 20 minutes, I geared back up, and got on my way. I crossed the river in Aberdeen, and checked out the huge cooling silo that one would see at a nuclear power plant that could be seen down the bank of the river. It was still a little hazy, but it looked simply amazing. Even though it was probably a good 15 miles down the bank, it still looked massive. On the other side of the river, I rode into Maysville. I have always been infatuated with little old time river townes like these, ever since as a boy, reading Huck Finn, and dreaming that some day I would take a raft down a main river like the Ohio or the Mississippi and pass along all the quaint little towns that seemed to be frozen in time, aside from the modern cars all over the place. Once out of Maysville, I continued down 32 to Flemingsburg. It was upon entering Flemingsburg propper that I realized that I had made a mistake in my route, and should have taken NEW 32 AROUND Flemingsburg. Instead, I took the opertunity to top off the bike, so that I would easily make it to Morehead without hitting reserve. I pulled into the little station, and started to get off the bike before I realized that there was a rather large man standing next to me. It was the attendant, and I then realized that this entire station was full serve. Normally, I wouldnt partake of such extravagance, as I am more than capable of pumping my own gas to save a few cents a gallon, but as the entire station was full serve, and I had already stripped my gear off, I thought, Screw it, Im on vacation. The attendant was reamarkably respectful and was very carefull with the nozzle as he filled her up. I paid him, and asked him which way I needed to go to get back on 32 propper. With some easy direction, I was well on my way again. One thing that I noticed as I was ridding on, was that it had gotten bloody hot thru this section of the world all of the sudden, and this would rear its ugly head mulitple times this weekend.
Tooling down 32, I of course came upon plenty of slow moving traffic, which, with a lean of the head, and a flick of the wrist, I dusted in short order. I was starting to realize that I was getting pretty close to my first destination, and my speed picked up, as well as my excitement. Coming down thru a little sleepy town called Goddard, I again ran upon slow traffic. This time, an old man in an even older looking Ford pickup. He had to be going about 25 in a 55. I waited for some traffic to pass the other direction, and pulled out around him and started to roll on throttle to overtake. Just as I did so, there was a resounding "POP" combined with a shudder thru the frame of the bike. The tach jumped up to redline, and I realized I was in serious trouble. I down shifted, and hit the throttle again. The tach climed freely, but no responce came from the wheel. I coasted into a little store on the left side of the road, and pulled the bike to a stop. Panic was suddenly begining to overtake my mind. "Good christ, what the hell just happened!?!" My first thought was that I had just blown up my clutch. So with the bike on, I pulled the lever, and the clutch cam responded. Cables not broken. It shifted in and out of gears just fine. Its not the clutch. I shut the bike off, and started stripping off gear. This was NOT good. My next thought was the bevel gear set in the secondary box. I had always thought I had heard a whining coming from there, but recently had deduced that it was actually my starter clutch making the racket. But what if I was wrong? Jesus! Had my bevel gears blown out? This was looking VERY bad. I put the bike on the centerstand, and started it up. I shifted it thru the gears, and the back wheel spinned with the trany and drive shaft. I pulled the filler cap on the secondary, and could see the gears turning, and gear oil churning. Its not the bevel gears. What in the hell happened???
I was shaking. Adrenaline was coursing thru me. I fought the panic back so I could asess the situation as clearly as possible. I was a good 200ish miles from home at this point. If this was super serious, I was in a world of hurt. I pulled out my cell to call Mike and aprise him of the situation. NO SIGNAL. The panic began to well up again....
I had been looking forward to this event since, well, snow was still on the ground. I didnt even have a running GS at the time (my cafe, which at the time was my ONLY GS, was still in pieces in my basement) but I thought, that come summer, this was going to be something great. Even if it was just a couple of guys, riding around in the gorge for the weekend. I didnt think there would be as much interest as turned out....
I left my home in Dayton, Ohio at about 8:45 or so on the Thursday before the day the Inaugural Semi-Anual Red River Rally was supposed to start. I was late. But I had been up late, and decided the extra hour of sleep was necessary in order to avoid being a sleepy rider. Safety first, yanno. I had everything packed up, so this morning, it was simply a matter of hooking up my tank bag, and cargo netting my backpack to the seat, and off I went. I was fully charged, excited and making fantastic time down 68 headed toward the Aberdeen, Ohio area, where I would cross the river into Kentucky on my route to meet up with Mike Riddle (MRiddle) in Morehead, and from there, we would travel on to the Gorge.
The sun was bright in the sky, and it wasnt quite hot yet, but it was already headed that way, and I could tell, if it didnt rain, as the weather guessers had said it wouldnt, it was going to be a scorcher this weekend. I had my iPod going, and some Steely Dan in my ears, smooth easy funky jazz to bop down the road too. I was already having a fantastic time, and I was only doing 65 on a pretty straight road.
I hit Aberdeen about 11, and by my figures, even though i had started an hour later than I had hoped, I was still on schedule. The plan was to meet up with Mike in Morehead at around 12 or 12:30 for lunch. I stopped at a little gas station along the river to refuel myself with fluid, and to call Mike to let him know I was still on time, even though I had left late. In talking to him, he let me know that HE was a bit behind schedule but only by 20 minutes or so, so I should not hurry. After I hung up the phone with him, I gave myself some extra butt rest time, as I had done 100 miles in one stretch without stopping. Normally, this wasnt too bad, but with the extra stuff strapped to my seat, there wasnt much wiggle room left on it, so I didnt really get to get off the pressure points. I drank my Gatorade, and consulted my map again. I had just come home this way from Mikes area not two weeks ago, so the route was pretty fresh in my memory, but no harm in double checking myself.
After about 20 minutes, I geared back up, and got on my way. I crossed the river in Aberdeen, and checked out the huge cooling silo that one would see at a nuclear power plant that could be seen down the bank of the river. It was still a little hazy, but it looked simply amazing. Even though it was probably a good 15 miles down the bank, it still looked massive. On the other side of the river, I rode into Maysville. I have always been infatuated with little old time river townes like these, ever since as a boy, reading Huck Finn, and dreaming that some day I would take a raft down a main river like the Ohio or the Mississippi and pass along all the quaint little towns that seemed to be frozen in time, aside from the modern cars all over the place. Once out of Maysville, I continued down 32 to Flemingsburg. It was upon entering Flemingsburg propper that I realized that I had made a mistake in my route, and should have taken NEW 32 AROUND Flemingsburg. Instead, I took the opertunity to top off the bike, so that I would easily make it to Morehead without hitting reserve. I pulled into the little station, and started to get off the bike before I realized that there was a rather large man standing next to me. It was the attendant, and I then realized that this entire station was full serve. Normally, I wouldnt partake of such extravagance, as I am more than capable of pumping my own gas to save a few cents a gallon, but as the entire station was full serve, and I had already stripped my gear off, I thought, Screw it, Im on vacation. The attendant was reamarkably respectful and was very carefull with the nozzle as he filled her up. I paid him, and asked him which way I needed to go to get back on 32 propper. With some easy direction, I was well on my way again. One thing that I noticed as I was ridding on, was that it had gotten bloody hot thru this section of the world all of the sudden, and this would rear its ugly head mulitple times this weekend.
Tooling down 32, I of course came upon plenty of slow moving traffic, which, with a lean of the head, and a flick of the wrist, I dusted in short order. I was starting to realize that I was getting pretty close to my first destination, and my speed picked up, as well as my excitement. Coming down thru a little sleepy town called Goddard, I again ran upon slow traffic. This time, an old man in an even older looking Ford pickup. He had to be going about 25 in a 55. I waited for some traffic to pass the other direction, and pulled out around him and started to roll on throttle to overtake. Just as I did so, there was a resounding "POP" combined with a shudder thru the frame of the bike. The tach jumped up to redline, and I realized I was in serious trouble. I down shifted, and hit the throttle again. The tach climed freely, but no responce came from the wheel. I coasted into a little store on the left side of the road, and pulled the bike to a stop. Panic was suddenly begining to overtake my mind. "Good christ, what the hell just happened!?!" My first thought was that I had just blown up my clutch. So with the bike on, I pulled the lever, and the clutch cam responded. Cables not broken. It shifted in and out of gears just fine. Its not the clutch. I shut the bike off, and started stripping off gear. This was NOT good. My next thought was the bevel gear set in the secondary box. I had always thought I had heard a whining coming from there, but recently had deduced that it was actually my starter clutch making the racket. But what if I was wrong? Jesus! Had my bevel gears blown out? This was looking VERY bad. I put the bike on the centerstand, and started it up. I shifted it thru the gears, and the back wheel spinned with the trany and drive shaft. I pulled the filler cap on the secondary, and could see the gears turning, and gear oil churning. Its not the bevel gears. What in the hell happened???
I was shaking. Adrenaline was coursing thru me. I fought the panic back so I could asess the situation as clearly as possible. I was a good 200ish miles from home at this point. If this was super serious, I was in a world of hurt. I pulled out my cell to call Mike and aprise him of the situation. NO SIGNAL. The panic began to well up again....
I'm rooting for you.
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