Las Cruces to Fountain Hills

Morning in Las Cruces was surprisingly pleasant - 75° and clear, with a beautiful view of the desert. Unfortunately I woke with a nasty cough, for which I blamed the air conditioning.

The rest of the day was just a constant push through the ever-increasing heat. I stopped at Picacho Peak for a break, and a guy stopped to ask which direction I was headed.

"Toward Phoenix," I told him.

"It'll be 115 by the time you get there," he assured me, and followed it up with, "I never ride during the day."

"I see why," I said. I dumped a bottle of water down my jacket before riding out again. I had already learned to tie a bandanna over my face to keep the dust out of my lungs, even under the full face helmet. Strangely, the hotter it got, the more gear I put on. Correct application of layers actually protects from the heat, not just the cold.

By the time I pulled into Dawn's driveway in Fountain Hills, it was 107°, and I don't think I could have gone much farther. I sat in her kitchen and sucked down three glasses of water while we caught up.

Eventually I took a shower, and then Virginia and Kelly came over. Dawn made chicken parmesan for dinner, and I had finally cooled down enough to be hungry. I followed Kelly outside to see her new Mini Cooper, which was white and striped with pink and purple racing decals. She encouraged me to sit in it to prove that I would in fact fit. It was much more spacious than I expected.

Cooper, Dawn's spaniel

On the way back inside, I stepped on something sharp on the stairs. Kelly told me that everything in the desert is sharp, and I made a mental note to wear shoes at all times.

Houston to Las Cruces

On Wednesday morning, I took off alone. I don't feel guilty about it, because if I were in Rogue's place, I would've insisted that she go. But I do feel bad for her predicament, and I'm sad to be traveling alone again. It's more fun with a friend.

After a quick stop at Stubb's, where the windscreen extension that I wanted didn't fit and so I bought nothing, I got on I10 and went. My whole day would be on I10 - hell, my next three whole days would be on I10 - so I didn't need directions or to pay attention to anything but traffic.

Storm clouds fretted on the horizon but no rain appeared, and the first 250 miles were pleasantly cloudy and cool. That, of course, didn't last - it is the south in the height of summer. The sun came out around San Antonio and the heat started to climb. The air dried out as sub-tropical Houston gave way to desert. By the time I reached Fort Stockton, it was 104°.

The new bike turned out to be very comfortable in spite of the windshield being too short (I'm tall enough that even the touring shield doesn't push the wind over my head). For some reason the miles between 300 and 400 were the hardest, and then I settled in and felt okay.

There were mountains on the horizon as I rode, but they never seemed to come any closer. There were also clouds, and I started to hope it would rain. Coming out of one gas stop the storm looked particularly promising. I saw what I though was a wall of rain crossing the highway, but when I drove through it, it wasn't wet. I realized it was a dust storm. There were some impressive forks of lightning and a few fat drops of rain, but then it stopped and didn't return.

I watched the sun set just east of El Paso. Even though it was past dark, the temperature rose again as I drove through the city. Then on the other side, it dropped suddenly. I pulled into the Super 8 in Las Cruces around 9:30 local time. I pounded out 824 miles in 13.5 hours. My projection had been 16 hours.

I almost sent an "I'm so tired" text out of habit, and then realized that for all the riding I had just done, I actually felt great. Nothing hurt that much. I didn't feel like I was about to keel over. I made my gas-station ramen with the hotel's coffee maker, stuffed my face, and fell asleep.

Rogue and Zee Are Broken

It was Tuesday afternoon and I was rolling my underwear into packable shapes when my phone rang. Rogue had gone out to get a shirt for the trip, and was probably calling to see if I'd remembered what I wanted from the store while she was in it. We were set to leave at 6am.

"Hello?"

"I crashed," came Rogue's shaky voice over the phone. "I think I broke my collarbone."

I dropped the underwear on the floor. "Where are you?" She gave me directions, and I shoved my boots on and ran outside. It was raining, but not too hard to ride. I took off for Westheimer and promptly got lost. Rogue knows that section of town a lot better than I do.

After some side-of-freeway texting, interrogation of my GPS, and lane-splitting down the 610 feeder, I found Rogue in the back of a police car in the parking lot of a hotel. Zee had been pulled from the street by some good Samaritans, and the cop was willing to drive her to urgent care.

The story as I understand it is that someone stopped suddenly in front of her, because that's what Houston drivers are good at. When she tried to stop, the bike lost traction in the rain, started to slide, regained traction too late, and threw her off. Her knee, elbow, helmet, and bike all show the marks.

Fortunately, the helmet did its job and her head was uninjured. Her collarbone didn't fare so well, though. An x-ray confirmed her fear of a fractured clavicle, and she walked out of urgent care with her arm in a sling.

Zee ran and rolled but I didn't trust her in Houston traffic, so we left her at the hotel for the night. What was supposed to be a going-away party at the house became a get-well-soon party. Rogue insisted that I should continue on the trip without her, and I didn't protest too much - she'll have more peace and space to heal without me there, and I know there are plenty of people in the house who will help her out if she needs anything.

Growing Pains

The new bike was missing all the awesome farkles I used to have on Bee - the extended windshield, storm guards, engine bars, highway pegs, electronics...and luggage.

I installed a new 12-volt charging port and a connector for my heated vest and replaced the windshield with a Puig touring screen; those were the easy parts. I couldn't afford engine bars so I started looking for highway pegs that would fit on the frame.

Everything I could find cost more than I was willing to pay, but when I searched for '1.5" bar mount' on eBay, an interesting solution appeared: a set of light mounts for off-road vehicles. They looked like highway pegs, so I bought them as an experiment. They did exactly what I hoped.

Since the bike has a luggage compartment where the gas tank would normally go, no one actually makes a tank bag for it. I removed the tank foot from my Ion bag, got out some bungees, and got creative.

I modified this setup later so it's no longer pulling on the zippers. It works well enough.

I saved the aluminum Zega panniers from Bee, but can't get replacement mounting rails until the end of July. (Thanks a lot, Touratech.) So I pulled out the dry bags and a mess of bungees and a cargo net.

All of this would be fine if the gas filler wasn't located under the passenger seat. I get gas as many as eight times a day depending on my milage. This happens every. Single. Time.

A Sad Goodbye to Bee

The problems with Bumblebee continued to get worse. When we arrived in Houston, we went straight to British USA so they could replace the fork seal that mysteriously started leaking again a month after I replaced it the first time. That plus a new front tire cost me $500.

Less than a month later, she began to have a starting problem, and in under 24 hours had stranded me in Pasadena. I had a passerby give me a push through a long parking lot to try to bump the engine, but after he nearly crashed me by pushing on one side of the bike, the engine wouldn't go. I had her towed ($180) up to Stubbs, who told me they didn't have the necessary diagnostic tools to troubleshoot her. Rogue picked me up and then brought me back with the jump-starting kit, and we limped her to British.

She was there for two weeks waiting for parts, and another $600 later we rode out with a new rectifier and stator. The auxiliary lights put on an obnoxious strobe show with the new hardware installed, and I returned to British and asked them to fix it. They poked around and announced that it was a loose connection. I said I could replace that myself, so I went home and replaced all the connections. The strobe show continued.

As long as I had her apart, I decided it was a good time to fix the gas leak, as well. I removed the tank and used JBWeld to epoxy every possible crevice, let it cure for the recommended 24 hours, and put her back together. Then I rode out to Bandera to go to a friend's wedding, and when I put the first full tank of gas in her, she started leaking again.

The oil leak was continuing in steady fashion, too. Every time the light came on I added a quart, and occasionally I wiped off the engine. Full Throttle had told me it was the valve cover gasket. And of course there was that mysterious case of metal shavings in the oil that I'd been ignoring since January...

I took her for an overdue oil change at Stubbs, and while I was there I inquired about a trade-in value. It wasn't quite time yet, but it would be good information to have.

The mechanic took his sweet time going over her, and when I got the report, it sounded like this: "Are you actually riding this? 'Cause we're concerned for your safety." Apparently all the seals in the engine were dried and cracking, and it was only a matter of time before she ejected all her oil.

I poked through the used bike lot and test drove a KLR650. It felt lazy, and the knobby dirt tires wouldn't lend themselves well to the kind of riding I do. "I don't love it," I told Justin, the salesman. "I want to love it."

I drove a Versys, Rogue's dream bike - it also felt sluggish, both in the throttle response and in the cornering. One round of the parking lot and I shook my head and put it back. On the showroom floor, I found a brand new 2015 black Honda NC700X. I'd done some reading on the CB500 and NC700 (sister styles of bike) and decided to take it for a spin.

It was on. I forced myself to park after several circles of the track-like area in the back of the parking lot. It was light, it was responsive, it was quiet, it was beautiful. They offered me $2500 on trade-in for Bee, Honda made a $700 down payment on my behalf from their "seasonal kick-starter" fund, and I signed my life over to Honda financing for the rest. This is how one goes in for an oil change comes out with a new motorcycle.

Bee on the left, unnamed NC700X in the front

I gave Bee a hug (and uninstalled a few accessories) before riding away. She was really fun while she lasted, and I'll miss the face-melting acceleration and high suspension. But I won't miss the constant problems.

Houston: Water Wall

Things are on pause for a little while. Neither of us are independently wealthy, and when we planned the trip it was with the knowledge that eventually we'd run low on money and have to stop and work somewhere.

We made it stretch as far as we could, doing work for an array of mystery shopping services to get free meals, staying in as many free campgrounds as we could find, and generally being penny pinchers. But bikes don't eat for free and sometimes hotels are necessary. We ran out of funds in Houston and set about finding work.

We'll be here for a while, but we do fit in some sight-seeing here and there. In mid-March we found the Water Wall in Uptown (and Rogue nearly got arrested for photographing the office building nearby. Why? They wouldn't say).

Blogging Reboot

"Travel doubts" apparently led to "tired of blogging" doubts. Let me take another whack at this.

We spent a weekend in Sour Lake with Amber and Rock. She showed us around town and took us out for gator and catfish. The group of us spent an evening toasting marshmallows and shooting off fireworks in the backyard.