ST LOUIS FAMILY ROAD TRIP

Pam is always finding great places to explore.

She saw an article about the City Museum in St. Louis.

We convinced Gabi and Scott that it would be fun to spend eight hours in their minivan with an eleven month old baby in a car seat. The two boys are already seasoned road trippers.

We stopped at Hannibal, MO, on the way to see Mark Twain's old neighborhood.

Mary got a Becky Thatcher hat...

and got in some quality rocker time with Sam.

Charlie, who is reading 'Tom Sawyer', and Sam got to see Tom's famous fence,

and everybody got to admire the Mississippi on the other side of the levee.

The next morning we headed for the City Museum in St. Louis.

You don't need to use the stairs.

Plenty of slides made out of recycled Masonite.

Sam found one that would launch him from one level to the next.

Charlie tried it,

then gave Mary a thrill ride.

Mary's favorite slide:

Rope swings near the slides.

We made it outside.

Where a genius of fun has constructed the coolest

place ever out of junk.

There are junk airplanes to get to via open-air rebar tunnels.

One of them has wings 'n everything.

You can sit in the cockpit and bomb the Commies or terrorists...

and when that gets old, walk the wing...

to an open air tunnel 5 or 6 stories up that takes you to...

a two story slide.

Or you can take this smaller slide to a fire truck.

Sam drops into the ball pit via the monkey bars...

and he and Charlie battle some college kids in a game of no-prisoner dodgeball.

Mary watches proudly from above, as one of the museum staff yells,

"NO HEAD SHOTS!" to the dodgeball players.

Charlie explored every tunnel, I think.

The highest one is about 6 stories up.

After a day of hard playing we headed downstairs.

Gabi took the easy way down too.

Charlie, Mary and I waited for stragglers....

to find their way out of the museum.

Yes, it really IS a museum,
full of old and beautiful parts of buildings,

along with a whole lot of fun.

Then we headed over to the Hill for some Eye-talian, and then back to Chicago.

NEW SEAT, NEW CHROME.

OK.

Call me a slave to fashion. A weak-kneed slut for marketing.

I have gone and caved in to peer pressure and kustomized my bike with a Chinese Chrome Official Harley-Davidson Accessory.

I've had to spend a little time at the dealer the past week or so, to fix the crank position sensor. I wasn't worried. I can take it. To me, a Harley dealer is just like a Ford dealer. Bike breaks, you need a part, you go there, you buy it, you come home, you put it on, bike's fixed.

But it's hard, man. They have walls full of chrome stuff, made by hard workin' folks. So what if they don't speak English? Are they not human beans too? They slave over stamping machines and chroming tanks, wrap up the parts with some kind of pride, pack em in big old containers, and ship em over here.

Maybe it was the music. They play the same music in the showroom that they play when you are on hold waiting to see if they can change a tire that very day, or if your people gotta call their people and set up an appointment. It was some catchy country song, Texas swing, filler between a sexy female voice assuring me that she wanted me, but if I could just put a little bit of chrome on my bike or strap on some black leather chaps or something, she wouldn't be able to control herself.

I've been around long enough to know she was lying through her teeth.

Anyway, I was two-stepping over to the chrome wall with the big TOURING sign and two things happened. First, the twin fiddles hit one of those long notes that grabs something inside of you.

Then I saw it.

Sleek. Shiny. Simple.

The 29153-07 Smooth Air Cleaner.

The box said it all: "Be smooth with this chrome-plated air cleaner cover." Dammit! I have to confess, I have always wanted to be smooth. I have never been considered smooth. Nobody ever said, "Man, you are one smooth cat!" to me. Never.

Well, next time you see a smooth cat you don't recognize, it's probably me. Hard to believe the transformation, isn't it? And it only cost me $39.95 plus tax. Yep. It's really me.

Got her to the shop, opened the box. Popped her out of the bubblewrap loving applied by foreign hands. Then it hit me. I probably should have had her installed by a certified Harley-Davidson mechanic.

But I was OK. There was a page of directions protected under the bubblewrap with the smooth air cleaner cover. I sat down and studied the directions.

1. Remove air cleaner cover screw (A) and air cleaner cover. Retain screw.

NOTE Before installing screw (A), apply Loctite 234 (blue) (Harley-Davidson part number 99642-97) to screw threads.

2. Install new smooth air cleaner cover (1) (with cutout facing down) using screw (A) retained in Step 1 over air filter (B). Tighten screw to 3-5 ft-lbs (4-7 Nm).

Sure, this could be rough for the old me, but a smooth cat could tear into this job with confidence.
I got the old cover off. Carefully made a check mark by Step 1. (hint for you rookies: check off the steps as they are completed so you dont get confused as to your progress and start assembling things before you have disassembled things)

I put some locktite on the screw (retained). Put the screw down carefully, balanced on the head, so as to not contaminate the blue locktite. I used the official HD # 99642-97 locktite that I had from a repair earlier, but I am not afraid to use non-HD Locktite. After all, it is MY bike, and I'm nothing if not a rebel. A smooth rebel.

I put an X by the NOTE. (hint for you you rookies: don't check off a NOTE, it can cause confusion if you think you have completed a step and take a break or go pee. A NOTE is something that must be done in conjunction with a STEP, not on its own. A WARNING is something completely different. Many repair and accessory installation instructions have WARNINGS. They mean that if you are drunk or stoned while installing or repairing, you will probably die the next time you ride the bike. The Smooth Air Cleaner Cover Instructions had ZERO warnings, which means that unless you are so drunk or stoned that you are unconscious, it's OK to go ahead and install the part.)

With frequent referrals to Step 2, I got the Smoothe Air Cleaner Cover (1) and retained screw (A), on the bike. I was so confident that I did not even torque the screw to 3-5 ft-lbs (4-7 Nm), I just tightened her down.

Hang on. I forgot to put a check mark by Step 2. Be back in a minute.

Now you know! If you see a smooth cat easing down the road, it's me. It's really not going to change me, having a kustomized Harley, we can still wave when passing, if I happen to see you.

Later, Gator!

The new cop seat and new Smooth Air Cleaner Cover:

The new seat and passenger seat:

The air tank for the seat mounted under the trunk:

TOW TRUCKS AND OTHER EXPENSIVE ADDICTIONS

I may hafta call an intervention for my RK.

She seems to have developed a liking for tow trucks, and she is spending more on 'em every time she takes a ride. I'm thinkin' an addiction may be developing.

Her first experience was a couple of days ago, on the GRR. Flat tire. Tow back to LaCrosse. I thought, checkin' her in the mirror, that I could see sort of a look of pleasure, some ears flapping, and a tongue stickin' out into the wind. Naw, I thought to myself, it's a motorcycle, not a friggin dog.

Yesterday I put the cop seat on, and took 'er for a couple of spins to let my butt test the seat, maybe 40 miles or so. All was good.

This evening, friends invited me to go for a ride and get some dinner. We rode about 50 miles and stopped for chow. Still all good. Cop seat and butt gettin' to know each other, seat and butt happy, well adjusted.

We leave the restaurant, hang a left, I get about 50 yards down the road, one 'pop' and dead. No, I didn't hit the kill switch by mistake.I roll onto the shoulder and try the starter. She spins like a champ, but no joy.

My friends notice I am not in their mirror and come back. It's dark. Try it a couple more times. Still spins fine, no joy. Nada.

I'm thinkin' I must have pinched a wire with the front seat mounts, but I had been pretty careful. All the wiring moved freely between the seat mounts and gas tank. I can hear the fuel pump kick on when I turn on the ignition. I had moved the module that controls the extra taillights when I installed the seat, but the taillights are working fine, along with the flashers and brake lights.

We push her back to a gas station with some lights, and I check all the fuses, check again that there is really gas in the tank, unplug check and replug most connections under the side covers, switch all the relays under the seat to different positions. Still nada.

I can't remember how to check for codes, and wouldn't know what they meant even if I could remember how to check for 'em. Pulled a plug wire, stuck a screwdriver into it, held it close to the jug and turned her over....no spark.

Called tow companies, finally got one that would come in about an hour. Got her back to the shop. But, she seemed perkier when the tow showed, somehow. She is starting to worry me. $251.00 for a tow back to my shop. Is this just experimentation with towing? Or is she developing some kind of physical or mental addiction?

Maybe I have been too protective during her formative years. I never let her near a trailer or a tow truck for 8 years. Any little maladies that she experienced, I made her walk 'em off. She had to get home or to a dealer under her own power.

Wait! I almost forgot...she did ride in a pickup a few years ago, when the front went flat and no amount of flat-fix could get her sober enuf to roll in a straight line.

Maybe it's true. I shoulda just said NO, pulled the front wheel and had one of my riding partners run with it to the dealer. But I figured what could one little ride hurt? It was a very small pickup that the dealer showed up with. He didn't even charge me for the ride.

OMG. What have I done? I shoulda seen what was happening. A 'dealer'. Giving the first little innocent 'ride' for free. My mom had warned me...pickup rides lead to the hard stuff. Trailers. Hooks. Flatbeds.

Wait, another memory is surfacing out of my repression of the past. 50 miles south of Vegas. She throws a fit and spits a muffler off at the Y. A friendly stranger in a semi offers us a ride. Once again....my mom had warned me about strangers that offer rides.

Hindsight is making things clear now. Stranger. Ride. Sin City. I can only hope things havn't gone too far. How could I have been so blind?

Now the tows are coming one after another. And each is getting more expensive than the last. Free. $160. $251. Am I gonna become one of those lost souls that rolls drunks and robs houses to pay for her habit? Will I hafta hear people talking about 'trailer trash', 'tow-head', or hear them say she 'has been on ever flat bed in town'?

I'll take the blame. It was right there in front of me, and I couldn't see it coming. She was a good bike, I mean she IS a good bike. Sometimes she runs a little over the limit with her fast friends, but every bike I ever knew had to let off steam once in a while. She likes to get down on the curves, but that’s all in good fun.

I looked in my manual for some advice and the words just seemed to swim over the page. The trouble codes she is blinkin’ at me seem to be gibberish. I can make out a 33, but 311 doesn't make any sense. I don't know what to do. An intervention might be warranted. Maybe even rehab. I dunno, I'm tired, so I think I'll sleep on it and see if she can blink out some straight trouble codes tomorrow.

Thanks to Mark "the comedian" and Paulette for the video!