A MISTAKE I MADE THAT DIDN’T KILL ME!!

I took my motorcycle out early in the season this year. It has been my practice to leave my gas tank full at the end of each riding season since I first rode in the 1970’s. I was told, way back then, that the full tank prevented gas break down. I stopped riding in the mid 80’s because my toys had to be discarded to allow me to put my limited resources towards the important things in life, my wife and kids.

Among the many stupid things I do, is to stick with what once worked without doing a lot of research. I did that with the gas. My “second life” of riding started in 2020 after my divorce was finalized and I was about to retire. At the end of the 2020 season, and every year since, I have performed the same ritual, without knowing, for sure, if that was the right thing to do. I didn’t know if new refining processes called for a different routine. That thought bothered me occasionally but did not lead to research or precautions.

This year I put about two hundred miles on the bike before it started backfiring and sputtering. I was a mechanic in a former life and recognized the symptoms as starving for gas or, possibly, a timing problem.

My assumption/hope was that it was “bad gas” (The cheapest solution). I was about 40 miles from my house when the bike started acting up. I filled it up with premium gas and, eventually, an additive. It took me about an hour to limp home- the cycle’s performance never improved. I let the bike sit for a couple of days and a more knowledgeable friend suggested I try to change the plugs and wires- another cheap fix. I changed them and took the “patient” out again.

No improvement!

I called a friend of a friend, Sean, a guy who has a great reputation as a bike mechanic. He told me he was booked, but would squeeze me in if I could limp it in. I embarked on a long and embarrassing journey (with the backfiring and inconsistent idle). I was “feathering” the clutch trying to keep the bike running and was happy that I made the 40- minute trip in just a little longer than that without killing the engine.

When I arrived, Sean confirmed it was a gas problem, but the problem- he hypothesized- stemmed from a gas line within the tank. He told me he would confirm with tests and send me an estimate.

Now, here’s the big mistake. I was about fifteen miles from my house, I have 5 kids living in the area, and I chose to attempt a walk home! After all, it was only 89 degrees out. I’m in good shape, but older than dirt. I did have a bottle of warm water in one of my saddle bags though! I told Sean of my plan, and he rolled his eyes, told me I was crazy, and offered me a bottle of water. I turned it down remember; I had the warm bottle in my saddle bags!

I estimated I had walked about a mile when I started wondering if my decision to walk might have been a mistake. I argued, with myself, that I could call one of the kids whenever I chose to, and they would come get me. My bold, macho, I can still to anything side, compromised.

The compromise was: If I start to feel nauseous or have obvious signs, I interpret as a heart attack or stroke I’ll call either a kid, or 911, depending on the severity of the symptoms. Maybe it was heatstroke, but that decision seemed acceptable to me, and my ego.

I turn to God often and had been saying “The Rosary” as I walked. I was thanking God for the fact that, at near 70 years old, I was moving fairly quickly and without straining too much.

I glanced at my watch. I had been walking about two hours. I guessed I had completed about 4-6 miles. My phone weather report (modern phones can do anything) told me it was now 94 degrees out. My water was gone. I was coming close to my doctor’s urgent care complex and planned to get a fresh, cold, replacement water there.

There were a lot of clouds out, but the sun was hot and kept beating down hard on me. I was thinking about how, in another day, people of all ages walked this far to go for supplies. I was embarrassed that my mind was feeling sorry for myself when I wasn’t doing anything but walking. I was also assuming that my kids would never forgive me if my walk resulted in a major medical ailment.

I got my water refill at the urgent care center. None of the workers strapped me onto a gurney, so I must not have looked as bad as I was feeling. I decided to make one last, hard, push to finish. I had walked about halfway- around 7 miles.

My right hand, that was holding the water bottle, started to go numb. I switched the bottle to my left hand and the feeling came back.

I came upon a street I was not familiar with, Wood Barn Road. I looked hard for a “No Outlet” sign and did not see one. I guessed I could save a quarter mile of walking if I took it, so I made the “executive decision” and went to the left.

I took the numb right hand as a sign that, maybe, I was pushing it. I included in my prayer that, “I would appreciate a ride home now.” Almost as soon as I thought that I saw a grey car that looked like it was my daughter Jaime’s.

It drove past me. Disappointed, I thought, “Maybe I can make it to the “downtown” area about a half mile further. 

As I was thinking that I heard the car slow down. I don’t recall making any effort to confirm it was Jaime. I crushed my cigar out on the sidewalk and ran- sort of, to Jaime’s car.

As I was opening the passenger door she asked, “What are you doing way out here?” I replied, “Just being stupid” and then told her this story.

Jaime told me that in the twenty plus years we have lived in this area she has never been on the street she just found me on- she just took it, for the first time today, to try to beat traffic. I told her that I didn’t even know that street existed and added that I was not even sure if it went through to route 30- as I had hoped. Hmmmmm.

There are no secrets in our family and within a half hour my ex-wife and two of my other daughters checked in on me and followed their concern with scolding me about doing “crazy things.” Two of my four daughters told me they had no plans at all that day. I assumed that they had things to do, and I did not call to tell them I needed a ride because I feared they would change their plans (That they didn’t have) to give me a ride.

I’m glad to be alive and hoping that I have learned a lesson! What’s the saying about “Old dogs?”

Thanks for reading to the end. Please comment about any mistakes you have lived through!