killbam.net

Broken bike and broken adventure.

So much for the CB360T. I hop off the bike and the rest of the crew rides up. Rob explains to them the situation, but I’m so mad I don’t even take off my helmet, pouting like a MotoGP rider who just crashed out of the race. I shouldn’t have been pinning the throttle, especially at this critical point in the game. While they’re looking at the bike I take out the map.

We are literally at the apex of our trip, the next town is still twenty miles ahead and the last one was twenty miles ago. Even if these rural towns do have a bike mechanic, he’s not going to be open Saturday night, or Sunday, or Monday on Labor Day weekend.

Let’s put the bolt back in, my dad says.

What’s the point? I reply. If it came out once, it’s going to come out again. It’s hopeless. It’s ruined. We don’t even know what it is.

For the next few minutes, we argue about what the part is and if we can fix it.

It was leaking oil before, I saw it.

It holds together the tappets for the spark.

The bolt just fell out because the engine is hot.

Jon is right about the hot part. Even with our gloves on, the part is dangerously hot to touch. Dad gets our meager set of tools out. We didn’t bring a manual either; I figured we’d be useless in any situation that required a manual, but now I wish I had the comfort of one in my hands.

Even with one, we’re not very good mechanics and none of us could take an engine apart and put it back together it in a day’s time. When we were assembling the CB360 before we left we forgot to put on a washer that prevents the rear wheel from sliding around left and right. We’ve also broken a good amount of parts just because. Infamously, we end up with extra parts every time we take apart a motorcycle.

Still, they want to try to put it back in. The problem though, is it won’t come out.

We’re just fucking around now.” I say as I go sit on a bench. At least we stopped at a motel, we got a little lucky there. Still, we’re going to need to ask these people if we can keep the bike here for a week or two. We’ll need to re-configure the bikes for four people and their gear. We”ll probably end up leaving some bags behind too. When will we ever be able to make a trip to pick it all up?

They’re struggling with the bolt. I watch funny bugs buzz around. More and more are coming out as it gets later and later in the evening. I hate bugs and it’s good I won’t have to clean anymore off my helmet tonight, a process which I do by hand as to not scratch my visor. But to distract myself from my distraction I think about how to configure the bikes, who is going to ride what, what we’re going to leave behind.

Eventually, they get the bolt out and as we look into the engine we see that the thing the bolt goes into has moved slightly off the hole.

I know, I’ll start the bike until it rotates! Rob says.

And since none of us have a better idea than starting an engine that we can stick our fingers into, he does it. Every time the bike tries to start I cringe a bit, but after about a dozen tries, the holes line up.

The bolt is in surprisingly good condition for something that was plunging the interior of the engine and all of the threads on it are intact. It’s also covered oil which is dotted with metal shards. Not something you ever want to see in your oil.

Pretty good condition.

I peer into the engine. The threads inside the engine are half gone, ground completely smooth. The bolt I’m holding in my hand is hardened, while the engine is made of aluminum. When I put the bolt in, it just spins.

Frustrated again I let Dad and Jon take a look at it. They decide to put the bolt in by hammering it and turning it at the same time, using the resistance of the few threads that are already there. It’s a delicate operation, with broken parts, and the tools we have are:

a small wrench, and

a big wrench.

Jon turns the small wrench, careful not to burn himself on the still searing hot engine, while Dad smacks the top of the bolt with the big wrench. It turns, it turns a bit more, and then it stops turning.

I start the bike up.

On the side of the rural Michigan road there is only the sound of the CB360T running. None of us celebrate. None of us move. We all contemplate in different directions, immersing ourselves in the CB360T’s sound, listening for what the engine has to tell us.

I’m designated the test driver now because the bike broke on my watch. Still, nobody is blaming me for ruining the trip, and I’m not really either. Had it really been my fault I would have felt like riding off a cliff on one of the remaining bikes.

Nonetheless I’m a little ashamed at my behavior but impressed we got it to start up and it’s beginning to brighten up my mood. At least I can make up for whatever part of it was my fault, and my sulking, by adopting the CB360T as my ride now.

We might be headed further away from home, we might be getting closer. At this point there’s only one option, and that’s forward. If we’re lucky, we can make it to the next town and then decide what to do.

Somewhere across that lake is home.