BREAKING

Travel Adventures

The Endless Highway

Originally Published In The July 2014 Issue Of Cycle Source Magazine

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Gear-heads seem as a breed unto themselves and this was a place upon which Jason and I connected. There was a friend only 30 miles away whom Jason claimed was a chronic FXR freak. FXR and FL models such as my own use identical drive trains and there was a possibility that this guy had the part. A call was placed but no one answered so my new friend left a message. Next, he sat me at the desk and offered use of the computer to check listings for shops in distant towns. After all, my bike could still be push started, then driven as far as needed to acquire the new starter. Jason said that the telephone carried no long distance charges and to use it as needed. I got to work. It was a long and tedious process. After many calls, a single prospect surfaced. It sounded like a little mom and pop shop (my kinda place), the owner G insisted that there was probably a Hitachi lying around and if we came by he’d scrounge it up. If not he’d overnight me a new one and we were welcome to make camp at the shop until it arrived. Although the place was 150 miles away; at least it was in the direction we were already heading.

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I set the phone down. We were out of options. By now the time hung well into afternoon and there seemed no sense in leaving today. It would be another night in the house of Jesus. The phone rang. It was the FXR guy and Jason handed the receiver my way. The dude introduced himself as Bob. He was a fast talker and struck me right off as being about half nuts…maybe more. Bob owned a ranch and his life was intertwined with horses as well as FXRs. As he rambled on about the virtues of a kicker and how I needed to scrap that electric thing in favor of the old system (this guy was adamant, yet comical) he scrounged around the garage in search of my starter. “Yup, got it right here in my hand,” he finally said. When I told of the broken bracket he searched a little more. “Uh huh; got that too. A hundred bucks takes it all.” I offered to ride Laura’s Sportster over and grab it right away, but Bob retorted, “Unfortunately for you, you’re not the first thing on my priority list right now. I’ve got these horses to deal with. I’ll bring it by later. I wanna visit Jason anyway.” “Okay. I’ll see you then.” There was nothing left to do but wait.

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Jason’s workload was pretty relaxed and for a time we sat to bullshit in the way that men do. I learned that the young man had moved from a larger city not so long ago to come and help his aging grandfather. Not only did Jason handle considerable paperwork for the convenience store and keep its computer up and running this challenge), he also worked at the firehouse across the street. The garage seemed to be Jason’s own show however, and it was pretty obvious that he really liked working here, and at the firehouse too. He was not the first person I’d met who thrives on living a million miles from nowhere. I personally would go nuts. When I asked why the sign advertised a population of 300 when there was little more than a couple of buildings in sight, Jason told me that they were all ranchers scattered far and across this land. An SUV pulled in and Jason approached the driver’s window to inform the woman that he’d need to order parts for her lawnmower. Next, a ranch-truck stopped to ask if his tires had arrived. They hadn’t. It seemed that everyone loved the young man who could fix just about anything so far out here in the middle of nowhere. For as isolated as Crowheart is, my new friend’s life seemed pretty full. The lack of women was a problem though and we did talk about that.

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While at the shop I helped with the operation of a funky tiremounting machine that Jason had only recently acquired and not had time to master yet. It also became apparent that he really liked to smoke vapor cigarette machines, but had a hard time getting the reload juice for his. At the moment he was waiting on a shipment. It just happened that I had a good supply of that stuff and promptly gave him about $30 worth. An old car pulled into the driveway and a tall, slim, cowboy looking dude stepped out with my starter in his hand. After introductions, Bob chimed right back in about that kick-starter thing. This cat was squirrelly, comical, and likeable at the same time, and I was thoroughly entertained. He would not, however, allow himself to be photographed.

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Bob handed me the part. Identical to my own, the Hitachi was the original from a 1987 FXR. The bracket I also needed hung from its side. What a break. I held the starter against a car-battery and it came alive with a pleasing jerk. I opened the thing for a look inside and found its brushes to be at least half warn. With this as an excuse, I tried to talk Bob down to $80; but he wasn’t having any of it. Finally I handed over the $100. When the 45 minute bullshit session had passed, Bob indicated that he’d like to accompany us to the church for a look at the bike. I grabbed the Sportster while Laura jumped into his car and we headed off. Upon sight of my torn apart FL, Bob wanted to install the new/old Hitachi forthwith; but the day had grown late and I wasn’t into tackling the job until morning. And so the cowboy left us to another quiet night in our little abode. Morning brought clean country air beneath clear skies and the installation job didn’t take long. Betsy fired right up and in shortorder both bikes were packed and ready. Again, the road that had been my home for so long rolled out ahead, leading us ever onward and into the unknown.

 

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