| Diavoletto |
06-10-2005 11:52 |
Tulun, Russia
August 30, 2004
I’m almost too embarrassed to tell this story but you might as well know what a geek I am. Two consecutive days on a mud road appearing like it was assaulted with cluster bombs had me dingy. The potholes were so deep and spaced so close, it was a 5mph creep for hours. Even the race car drivers were forced to crawl. I try to predict what could go wrong and develop alternate plans for situations like flat tires and breakdowns in remote locations in circumstances like raging storms with no shelter on deserted roads. The only option is to pitch a tent, wrap up in my sleeping bag and try to stay warm.
High-capacity Touratech fuel tanks are a terrific option providing long-range when needed yet can be left half full when less weight is advantageous. I deliberately only filled them halfway for the slippery conditions ahead. Five gallons less, means forty pounds lighter when trying to wrangle through mud. Even if the low-fuel light blinks on, that only means I have 120 miles to re-supply.
I keep a set of spare keys stashed on the bike where they are safe yet easy to access quickly in an emergency. I wrapped them in soft duct tape and tucked them up underneath the rubber boot on top of the gas tank under the seat. Endless jolting and jarring from washboard roads destroys everything, no matter how tightly packed. Pills turn to powder and even the foam padding in the rear top box was beaten into gum, sticking on the instruments sought to protect. Items touching change shape after a few days off-road.
About the time I started looking for a place to dry out and get warm, without warning, the motor quits. Not a sputter, a cutoff. Repeated attempts to restart were only leading to a dead battery.
I’ve spent years riding bikes with carburetors—they are easy to repair and if necessary, a lawnmower could be cannibalized for parts to make it home. New BMWs come with electronic fuel injection, a superior method of metering fuel and supposedly bulletproof but also difficult to repair on the road without a computer and special tools. It’s a nagging fear, wondering what to do if this system malfunctioned in Africa or here in Siberia. I have no expertise in this field and I doubt anyone else here does either.
My brain overloads analyzing the problem. Maybe a broken wire buried somewhere in the yards of electrical tubes? A burned out circuit board? A malfunctioning computer? Chips gone haywire? How will I ever repair this here? What about my slowly expiring Russian visa? How will I survive wet with the sun going down? The worst of my fears has arrived. But I have a long developed faith in people. Throughout life, when needing a friend most, one appeared. Short of emergency medical care, in the event of disaster, I believe that I’m safer on the road, than in California. Without that conviction, I wouldn’t be here. Great powers aid those who struggle hard has been proven to me too many times to ignore
Although this is named the Trans-Siberian Highway it’s really just a lightly traveled, rugged road across half of Russia and tolerable the rest. The forest is far too dense to see into--a decent shelter from the barreling storm. Rain still drips down but the winds can’t get me. I only have to step a few feet in for relief and to wait for someone to flag down. What can they do anyway? I won’t leave my bike out here, I’d rather freeze.
I hear it before I see it, a lumbering big rig, bouncing toward me rocking side to side over the mangled road. The truck stops before I have a chance to wave. I don’t need to understand Russian to know that the driver is asking what the hell am I doing out here? Not only are locals always surprised to see a man riding across Siberia but doing it alone is baffling. What if something like this happens?
The lower end of his tractor trailer is four feet off the ground but I pat my bike and point to the rear door. He considers the suggestion and after a short conversation with his partner, they jump down from the cab slipping on work gloves. All that’s left is for the three of us to pick up six hundred pounds of motorcycle over our heads and shove it into this trailer.
Halfway done unloading my gear to lighten the load, a car stops with two muscle bound race car drivers. They recognized the situation and before we had a chance to ask for help they were donning overcoats and headed our way. With nothing to secure the bike, we wedge it against the wall between two massive spare tires.
The rig is a new deluxe cab Volvo with plush interior--the driver orders me to strip off my muddy clothes before climbing in. They live on the road hauling dairy products between Irkutsk and Krasnoyarsk. This is their home, they want it clean. Minutes later we’re bouncing our way three hundred miles west with the radio tuned to an international rock station. The nearest BMW dealer is further than their destination but when we arrive, they meet a friend driving a similar truck leaving that afternoon.
While loading onto the next rig I decide to see what happens firing the engine one last time. Bang, it pops to life like nothing ever happened. So what does this mean? Engine failure do to a wet connection? Maybe a loose wire temporarily barely reconnected? Let’s unload, I’m going to ride.
But what if it fails again and you get stuck? No, I’m sure I can make it. After a test ride around the parking lot, everything seems okay and I’m convinced it was a wet connection now dry. I will certainly make it to the dealer now. They warn me once again before I wave goodbye and blast out onto a newly paved stretch of road. Just as I hit fifth gear, the motor shuts down again sending me coasting to the curb. Now I’m certain it’s a dirty fuel filter or malfunctioning fuel pump.
Upon pulling the pump, I discover welcome relief—no gas! On top of the tank where I stash spare keys were delicate wires connecting to the low-fuel light, the reason there was no warning. Minutes later, another trucker stops. He has extra fuel used in his generator and siphons a few liters to get me going. Anyhow, I’m warm and dry now headed for Moscow with lots of time.
Striking Viking
questo signore gira il globo in moto...trovate stralci su advrider.com
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