2 wheels, 3 problems

I've been on steemit since late 2017 and I think it's time I produce some content. I'll tell a quick non fiction, suspenseful and gritty. It was some time in august of 2016, I was 23. Coat tailing the annual Sturgis biker rally, I hit the road for my first bike trip. She was riding well, my '99 sporty, until just west of Chamberlain, SD (coming from Wisconsin). An unsettling rattle started about the same time I saw this in the sky... This picture wasn't taken by me, but this is exactly what I was seeing. I rode on cautiously as the wind and the rain threatened my comfort. The lightning illuminated the sky, not unlike fireworks on the fourth. Eventually I would be forced to seek refuge under a bridge. To my surprise, there were other people with the same idea, but they were in cars! I was a bit confused with their reasoning, but I had other concerns. The storm never really blew over, I sat under the bridge for a long hour and a half. Eventually I decided to ride out, and so i did, all the way to the badlands. I pitched a tent and was awoken by grazing moaning buffalo and sunshine. She was really dickered now, I was having trouble shifting and still something was rattling loose down in my gear box/ stator area. I needed a new part, fortunately the folks at Rapid City Harley were able to overnight it. In the mean time, I took my pack and headed to the nearest watering hole where I met Al. Al must've been 70 y/o and preferred captain coke while he waited for work. He owned a semi truck, he moved trailers around for a living. Al and I ran the table on the local youth for about 6 hours, Al managed to break 3 glasses, either the 10 c&c's were getting to him or he had MS, or both. I said goodbye to Al before midnight, a reasonable hour. The black hills were quite black at this time of night. I picked a line up one of them an started walking. My rubber soled boots were more slippery than soapy water on a granite floor, so i walked up barefoot. I pitched my tent looking over the city, made a small fire and cooked some hot dogs.
The next morning I retrieved my bike, the walk down hill was easier. 400 dollars and 60 miles south later, the bolt holding my forward controls together fell off. The Harley boys were in a hurry and didn't replace all my washers (ultimately this is my fault for not checking their work). Shifting with my left hand while holding the clutch with my right (not cool) I made it to the next small town, bought a couple washers and lock nuts, fixed the problem and moved on. About 20 miles later in Hot Springs I pulled over for gas, when I got back on the bike she wouldn't move forward. She was running fine and shifting fine but she didn't want to go anywhere. Upon inspection of the bike to see what the fuck was going on, I saw my kevlar drive belt laying on the ground. A pebble had gotten stuck between two teeth and eventually sheared the belt. My first thought was "fuck" then "shit" followed by a defeated laughter. The manager of the gas station came outside and said "you ain't going nowhere anytime soon!" He was kind enough to offer me this consolation prize since the rally was over...

It now serves as a dual functioning drape and decoration in my house. Hot springs is a great city, let me tell ya. I asked around, eventually was referred Larry. Larry owned a small engine shop on the other side of town, which was probably only a mile. Covered in sweat, I walked my bike all the way to Larrys. To my surprise, Larry was a 22 y/o dude, taking life by the horns. Larry and Febi (his sheep dog) got a belt overnighted, and I was off to the next watering hole; Deja Vu. This time I met some Australian dudes, always a good time those Aussie fucks. We closed the placed down but not before arms were wrestled, tables were flipped and "the land down under" was played. I woke up the next morning to the sound of sprinkler water blasting my tent, I had pitched my tent in the city park (also to my surprise). After a quick rinse in the hot springs off main st, I went to put my belt on with Larry. Larry was the man, he really knew his way around a wrench; I was back on the road in no time. From then on, she road well.
I popped over to Wyoming, south through Cheyenne and down to Colorado. My brother lives in Colorado, we rode his dirt bikes up the mountain only to be trapped in a snow/rain storm. I'd never ridden a dirt bike before and I dumped it no less than 20 times on the way down the mountain, the wet clay was more slippery than a full grown walleye flopping around the hull of a 16 ft alumicraft. Bruised and battered, I saddled up the next morning and pointed it east. I made it all the way to Iowa before I pulled over at a Perkins to sleep, Perkins was closed. Perkins is a 24/7 operation last time I checked, so you can imagine my frustration. A few more miles down the road I found a nice bridge to sleep under, It was a solid night sleep. The next morning I brought it home. I now travel with spare washers, bolts, and as many tools as I can carry.
I will forever appreciate the simple and explicit challenges that motorcycling presents relative to our complex personal lives.