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!