This morning I had something scheduled which I had been looking forward to for many months. At 9 AM I had an appointment at Janus Motorcycles right there in Goshen, IN to tour their factory and test ride a motorcycle. I'd first seen a picture of a Janus Halcyon motorcycle about a year prior, and was immediately enamored by the styling. I had never seen one in person, yet alone ridden one. Today was the day I would rectify that.
My original intentions were to get up at 7 AM, have breakfast and give the Indian a good scrubbing. I hadn't done any cleaning in a few days (since the morning of day three), and it was starting to show.
However, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. The bed was comfortable and I was very tired. Despite my original plans, I reset my alarm and slept until 7:30. The motorcycle cleaning would have to wait for another day.
When I did finally get up, I was moving very slowly. I was thankful that Janus didn't open until 9, so that was the earliest appointment I could get. That gave me an excuse to not have to get up earlier than I did.
I walked down to the lobby and annihilated the breakfast buffet. Among the many things they offered were chocolate waffles which sounded like a good idea but didn't turn out that great. I don't know if it was the batter that was the problem as much as the waffle iron. Rather than making one large waffle, this griddle made four mini-waffles. As a result, they were much crunchier than I like. Waffles shouldn't be crunchy. In an unusual situation for me, I actually decided to not eat all of the waffles. Me throwing away food is as rare as a sasquatch sighting.
It looked unusually dark outside. While I was eating I looked at the weather radar. It appeared Goshen was about to get decked with a big storm. Sometimes these storm clouds pass without actually doing anything, so that was my hope.
I went back to the room, packed some things and then took my first load out to the motorcycle. It was starting to sprinkle. I should have grabbed my rain gear while I was out there, but for some reason I didn't think of it until I was back inside. I did snap a photo of the hotel, which I had neglected to do the night before.
I went back to the room and brushed my teeth and did my final packing. When I was in the bathroom I thought I saw a flash of lighting out of the corner of my eye. I went and looked out the window to discover that it was now pouring down rain. I guess it was a good thing I didn't clean the bike, as I would have been pretty aggravated seeing the heavy rain fall on a freshly washed motorcycle.
It was now 8:40 AM, and I had a 9 AM appointment. I like to be prompt. I would much rather arrive early to scheduled events than late. The others in my family have a more relaxed attitude than I, and feel that 5-10 minutes after the planned time is close enough. I rarely say anything, but inside I'm coming unglued.
Anyway, I had 20 minutes to get to Janus, and now I had to put on my rain gear which takes time. I had not planned for this eventuality, and I could feel the stress building inside of me. I ran out to the bike in the pouring rain and grabbed my rain gear out of the saddlebag, then ran back to the room.
The good news is, it's a lot faster to put on rain gear in a hotel room than it is to do it on the side of the road. A lot of that is because I had somewhere to sit while I put on my boot covers and pants. Plus, inside the hotel room you're not getting wetter by the second.
I put all of my gear on, including my helmet, then grabbed my luggage and walked down to the lobby to check out. I probably looked pretty strange standing at the front desk wearing a full face motorcycle helmet, but oh well.
I ran out the door and loaded the rest of my luggage. Janus was located in town about three miles from the hotel. I carefully pulled out of the parking lot, not knowing how slick the blacktop would be.
I always ride cautiously in the rain, especially during the first 30 minutes or so. The water tends to float all the dirt and oils up from the concrete and make the pavement extra slippery. Once it's been raining for about a half an hour all of those things get washed away and the tires grip the wet pavement much better.
I pulled up at Janus five minutes late at 9:05 AM. That really bothered me, but there wasn't anything I could do about it at this point. When I pulled up the rain was already stopping and the sun was poking through. The storm was intense, but passed quickly. That gave me hope that if I waited a while until the roads dried off I could still get a test ride.
I got off the motorcycle and realized it was already getting steamy inside my rain gear. Despite being a little late, I needed to take five more minutes to take off the rain gear before I sweated to death. I hung my wet gear on the back of the Indian with the hope that it would dry off during my visit.
As I was taking off my stuff, I noticed that Richard, the owner of Janus, was out front of the building helping a guy who was picking up his brand new motorcycle. The guy had purchased a Halcyon 450, and Richard was going through how everything worked and all the details of what he needed to know. Richard is the guy crouching down in the green shirt.
I went inside and met Mitch the sales guy. Unlike me, he wasn't miffed that I had arrived a few minutes late. He was a really nice guy, and he gave me a tour of the factory and answered all sorts of questions I had. I snapped some photos as I walked around.
Hanging on the wall they had the very first Janus motorcycle they ever built, back when the company was originally called "Paragon."
Next, we went into a room full of brand new Janus motorcycles waiting to get shipped to their owners.
After that Mitch took me to the room where the technicians assemble the motorcycles once the individual parts have been formed and painted. There are two techs, and each bike is completely assembled from start to finish by the same person. It takes about two days per motorcycle, which means that Janus only makes about 300 bikes per year. It's truly a low-volume, custom shop.
All of their fenders are hand rolled by skilled craftsmen, not just stamped out of a press on an assembly line. Likewise, the gas tanks are bent and welded to shape by hand. There are no robots cranking out motorcycle parts in this factory.
When ordering a Janus, unlike other motorcycle companies, you are not limited to a couple of color options. Nearly any color is available, along with lots of pinstriping options. Here is a painter hand-applying pinstripes to a fender.
One of the things that I really like about Janus is that they know their niche in the market, and don't try to stray from it. Rather than competing with all the other "bigger is better" motorcycle companies out there, they specialize in lightweight, small displacement motorcycles with a retro design. Rather than overloading the bikes with features and bells and whistles, they make motorcycles that try to keep the riding experience pure. The people at Janus have nothing against larger displacement motorcycles with lots of features, but they realize the market is saturated with bikes like that. So they're doing something completely different.
One of the benefits to a smaller motorcycle like this is that you can use the full potential of the bike on almost every ride, which in their opinion makes the motorcycle lots of fun. I'm never going to ride fast enough or hard enough to use the full potential of my Indian.
Another great thing about Janus is that it's probably the most American-made motorcycle you can buy. Except for the engine, nearly every other part of the motorcycle is hand built either by Janus, or by local Amish craftsmen. The fenders are hand rolled from flat sheet metal. The frames are bent to shape and welded right there in the factory. The seats and bags are stitched by a local Amish saddlemaker.
They do not make their own engines. I get the impression that this isn't so much by desire as it is practicality. Building their own engines in-house would greatly increase the cost of the motorcycle, probably at least doubling the price. Instead, they have found a supplier of bullet-proof engines that they can import. The engines are so reliable that they offer a four year factory warranty, which is far longer than any other motorcycle company out there.
Admittedly, Janus motorcycles aren't cheap. And they aren't everyone's cup of tea. That's OK. They are created to appeal to a certain segment of people who want a handmade, rolling piece of art that is unique. As someone who builds handmade custom guitars, I can completely understand where Janus is coming from.
I am tempted to add a Janus Halcyon 250 to my garage. I already have an extremely large motorcycle with all the features. If I were to buy a second motorcycle, a Janus would be the polar opposite of what I currently have. My thought would be that the Janus could be my "around town" motorcycle, and the Indian could be my travel/passenger motorcycle.
The only thing that's really keeping me from pulling the trigger is that I'm not sure if I put enough miles on one motorcycle every year, let alone two. Since I started dedicated bicycle commuting 15 years ago, I just don't ride my motorcycle as much as I used to. I would hate to purchase a second bike only to cause one of them to sit around unused. So that's why I haven't yet made the plunge.
The roads were still wet from the rain so we wanted to wait a few more minutes before I test rode a motorcycle. Mitch had me sit on a couple of bikes in the showroom. I first sat on a Halcyon 450, which weighs about 360 pounds. Compared to my 950+ lbs Indian Roadmaster, it felt unbelievably light.
Then I sat on a Halcyon 250, which is the model I'm considering. This motorcycle weighs 265 pounds, and I was astonished how easy it was to lift off the stand. It felt like if I were inclined I could pick up the entire bike, although I know that in reality I couldn't.
As we were talking and I was sitting on the Halcyon 250, another group of riders from New York stopped in to see the Janus factory. They were on four trikes plus a support vehicle. I talked with them a bit. They were nice people.
Around 10 AM the roads were dry enough that I wasn't going to completely slop up a brand new bike. Mitch rolled out a 2023 Halcyon 250 in seafoam green, and started it up. He gave me instructions on a suggested route that I ride, and then he and all the visitors from New York watched as I pulled out. No pressure. This would be a terrible time to kill the engine or dump the bike.
The Halcyon 250 was a fun bike to ride. It certainly was extremely different compared to my Indian Roadmaster. I quickly realized how long it had been since I've ridden a motorcycle without a windshield. Seriously, it has been probably 25 years. Once I got above 50 mph it felt like the wind was trying to push me off the back end of the motorcycle. I don't think this had anything to do specifically with the Janus. I think it was mostly not being used to the force of that amount of wind pressing on me, and I would experience this sensation on any motorcycle brand without a windshield.
One thing I noticed was that, although it definitely was smaller than my Indian, it didn't feel like I was riding a scooter. A big concern with getting a smaller motorcycle is that a larger person can make it look like a clown bike. Richard, the owner of Janus, is something like 6' 5" tall, and designed his motorcycles so that he can fit on them. I'm 6' 1" tall, and didn't feel unusually cramped. In fact, the reach to the handlebars was a lot further than I expected.
So how does a 15hp 250 engine feel? Well, I'm not going to tell you that the Halcyon is a screamer, but that's not the intention. I never felt that the bike was underpowered. At the same time, I never felt scared to give the motorcycle full-throttle. The power-to-weight ratio of the Janus is roughly the same as a Harley Sportster 883. I had enough acceleration for typical day to day, around town riding, which if I purchased one is what I would use it for.
The Halcyon 250 has a stated top speed of 70 mph. Maybe you could hit that if you were patient and opened the throttle wide-open in 5th gear. To me the bike seemed happiest when I kept it under 55 mph. People who want to go faster should probably look at the Halcyon 450 which has a top speed of 90 mph. For me, I have the Indian if I want to hit the highway. The 250 model is more than adequately fast for my intentions.
One thing that initially concerned me before I actually rode the motorcycle was ride quality. The Halcyon 250 is a hardtail, which means there is no rear suspension. (The 450 model is a softail.) I was worried that it would transfer every bump and road irregularity directly to my spine. Surprisingly, this did not happen. I think the combination of the extreme light weight of the bike, along with the seat springs helped isolate things enough that I wasn't uncomfortable. I'm not going to tell you that it rode anywhere near as smooth as the air suspension on my Indian, but I wouldn't describe the Janus ride as rough either.
While the rear of the Halcyon 250 has no suspension, the front of the bike has what is known as a "leading link" suspension. This is different from most other modern motorcycles. Leading link suspensions are often considered old school, but that actually fits the Janus styling perfectly. One interesting characteristic of the leading link suspension is that under hard braking, the front of the bike does not dive like most modern motorcycles. In fact, it actually slightly rises. This is a beneficial feature, although it does feel quite a bit different from every other motorcycle I've ridden.
I rode for about 20 minutes, then returned to the Janus factory. I spent some time talking numbers with Mitch the sales guy, and also talking more with the group from New York.
The previous night the Tundra Girl asked me, "You're going to buy a new motorcycle tomorrow, aren't you?" I didn't deny or confirm those allegations. I'm proud to say that I decided to think about it some more. I thanked Mitch for his time and told him I would be in contact. As it turned out, the events that would happen later that same day would wind up removing my desire for a second motorcycle for a while. But we're not yet at that point in the story, so keep reading.
I bought a Janus T-shirt, and then got on the Indian. I entered the address of the old Joliet prison into the GPS, and was heading down the road by 11 AM Goshen time.
I rode up through Elkhart and South Bend, IN and got on Interstate 90 heading west. I'm not 100% sure of the route I took through those cities to get there, as I was just following the Indian GPS instructions. When calculating the route I used the "fastest time" option. I've looked at a map after the fact and tried to figure out what route I actually rode, but so far haven't been able to pin it down with 100% certainty. Other than curiosity, I don't think it really matters.
I rode along I-90, and then at the junction followed I-80 west. Both of these interstates in this area are toll roads. I had to pull over to pay on the Indiana side. On the Illinois side I took the "pay online" lanes. That meant there was no stopping, but you don't know how much they're actually going to charge you until you get emailed a bill about a month later. I've gone through these lanes before and the system works well, so it's more convenient than constantly stopping to shell out a few bucks every 10 miles.
Traffic on these two interstates was very heavy, particularly with trucks. The speed limit was 55, but the slowest anyone was moving was 70 mph. I rode along with the slower of the vehicles and tried to stay out of the way of the other cars that were driving 90 mph.
The day was getting really, really warm, and I was still wearing my jacket and all protective gear. I felt like a slow-roasted turkey, where my button had popped and the meat was about to start falling off the bone. The only thing I wanted more than to take off my jacket and gloves was my desire to arrive with time to tour the old Joliet prison.
It took about 2.5 hours to ride from Goshen to Joliet. I passed from the EST to CST timezones, so although I left Goshen at 11 AM, it was now just 12:30 PM. That worked in my favor as this was going to be a long day of riding mileage-wise, plus I had multiple sightseeing stops planned.
The old Joliet Prison is where they filmed the beginning of the Blues Brothers movie. This is another very influential movie in my life. During the summer of 1986, back when our family first got a VCR, my brother and I recorded the Blues Brothers movie from a TV broadcast. I think we watched it nearly every single day that summer, and got to the point where we could recite along with the film. To this day I remember most of the dialog.
Like the Mansfield prison the day before, the old Joliet Prison is no longer in use. It was shut down in 2002 after the building was deemed obsolete and no longer safe. In 2018, the old prison building opened for tours.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I was surprised to see it was empty. And when I say empty, I mean not a single vehicle in the huge parking lot. I thought that was odd, as I would expect at least a couple of cars parked for the people who work there.
I pulled up all the way to the front and got off the bike. I immediately removed my jacket and gloves to let the fresh air hit my body. It felt nice. I then proceeded to look around the area. The tour entrance gate had a sign that said, "Closed." The general vibe of the place indicated that it hasn't been open for a long, long time.
Yet when I pulled up the prison website, it stated it should be open for tours. There were Google reviews from people who supposedly went through the old prison just a few days prior. Something wasn't adding up. I stood there and read the information board while I thought about the situation.
As I stood there pondering, another car pulled into the parking lot and drove up to near where I was. A family got out of the car. It turned out they were tourists from Germany who were also there because they were big fans of the Blues Brothers movie. They had just come from the Cook County Administration building in downtown Chicago where the end of the movie was filmed. I took a picture of their son's t-shirt.
We talked for a while and they agreed that it didn't look like the place had hosted any tours for quite a while. We were all confused.
They decided they at least wanted pictures of the entrance where Jake left the prison. After looking at Google photos, we determined it was the east gate. I don't think this was the actual entrance used to let real prisoners out, but it's what they used in the movie. They opted to drive around to that side. I was in need of leg movement, so I opted to walk. I snapped photos as I made my way over.
The distance over to the east gate was farther than I expected. That was fine from an exercise perspective, as I could use some activity to get the blood flowing to my legs again. However, I realized I was about 1/4 mile from my motorcycle, which was now out of view. I also started looking around at the general state of the area and came to the realization that it's not what I would call "economically advantaged" (sorry Joliet.) On top of that I remembered that I left my bags unlocked, and had a pile of stuff sitting on top of my seat. I wasn't worried to the point where I immediately turned around to go back, but at the same time I hoped that I hadn't made a grave error.
At the east gate I snapped a photo, then the German family asked if I wanted them to take my picture in front of the gate. I said, "Sure!" handed them my camera, then walked across the busy street to pose. As I was standing there it occurred to me that I'd just handed my phone to strangers, who easily could have hopped in their car and taken off with no hope of me catching them.
This must have been the afternoon for paranoia. I walked back and got my camera without incident. I exchanged goodbyes and well wishes with the German family, and then returned to my motorcycle to find it also unmolested.
I was bummed that I didn't get to tour the prison, but on the other hand it saved me some time. I still had a long ride ahead of me to get to my hotel. Plus I had three more planned stops, and would need at least two gas stops. In retrospect, I kind of overplanned this day. It probably would have been better to have gotten hotel reservations in Dubuque, rather than 100 miles further down the road in Waterloo. However, that would have increased the next day's ride to Ortonville by 100 miles, which was also undesirable. Sometimes you have to pick your poison.
I was getting ready to hit the road again when my wife texted asking me to call her ASAP. I sat down on a concrete wall and called. As it turns out, the previous night's power outage fried a GFCI outlet in our bathroom. It had started to arc and bang loudly. I instructed her to flip the circuit breaker and leave the power off. That would be inconvenient, but not as inconvenient as having the house burn down.
She asked if she should call an electrician. I told her she could if she wanted the problem fixed immediately, otherwise I would be home in two days and I could fix it right away when I got back. After a few moments of deliberation, she decided she could wait until I got back. That would be the easier and cheaper option.
That phone call took about 15 minutes. When I hung up, I noticed the temperature was getting a little cooler. That was a welcome change, but what was unwelcome was the really dark clouds that appeared to be rolling in from the west. It looked and smelled like rain, and didn't give me the impression it would be a light shower. I decided I better get going. I hoped that I could head northwest and avoid the storm, or at least the bulk of it.
When planning the trip, I had mapped out the following route between Joliet and Galena, IL. I headed north through Joliet, got on 355 heading northwest, and then turned west on Interstate 88.
I rode interstate for at least an hour, and was still in the outskirts of Chicago. It really gave me some perspective as to how big the Chicago metro area is. It looked like I avoided the storm that hit Joliet, but I could also see more dark clouds up ahead to the west, in the direction I was heading.
On the westernmost edge of the metro area, I made a wrong turn and accidentally got off the interstate. The Indian GPS rerouted me and told me to take the next right. Unfortunately, I took that a little too literally and turned into the entrance to a golf course. Oops.
It was kind of a pretty golf course, so I snapped a couple of photos. One turned out really blurry. The other one is a group of golfers teeing off. I wonder how far they got in their round before the rain hit? By the way, pictures of clouds never look as menacing as they do in real life.
I got back on the highway, and found my way to Sugar Grove, IL. I was in need of gas, so I stopped at a local station. For some reason, gas here was almost a dollar more per gallon than anywhere else on my trip. I don't know if that's all of Sugar Grove, or just this particular station.
I was getting pretty hungry. Like the previous day, I had plans to eat in Waterloo at an interesting looking burger place near my hotel. I wanted to save room. However I decided to go ahead and find something light inside the store to try and tie me over.
I found a chicken wrap "pinwheel" that didn't look too bad. It didn't have a price on it, which should have been a warning. It rang up at nearly $9. Hoo boy, I'm glad I don't live here and have to pay these prices all the time.
I went out and stood by the bike and ate my pinwheels. Part of me was trying to eat quickly to get back on the road, and another part of me wanted to slow down so I didn't have to get back on the road. The storm appeared to be getting closer and that was enough motivation to get me to climb back on the motorcycle.
I found my way back to I-88, and made a really weird left turn to get onto the ramp. About halfway through the turn I realized that the ramp was only to be used for oncoming traffic, and the ramp I should have used was a loop to my right. Oops.
So this was the map of the little unintended detour I took:
I pushed the speed limit a little bit trying to make time. The clouds continued to get darker and I hoped I could somehow get ahead of the storm.
Originally, I had planned to ride west on back roads until I reached the Mississippi River, then ride on the east side of the river heading north all the way up to Galena, IL. The storm was looking menacing enough that I decided to revamp those plans. I turned on the Garmin GPS just to use the weather overlay functionality, and I could see on the radar that it wasn't just my eyes; there was a giant storm ahead of me.
I stayed on I-88 west until I got to I-39, at which point I headed north towards Rockport. This wasn't the scenic route but the good news was, except for some light sprinkles here and there, I missed the bulk of the storm. It wasn't in my original plan to ride on the interstate through most of Illinois, but then again it also wasn't in my original plan to get hailed on. As I said earlier, sometimes you have to pick your poison. Here was my new amended route:
My strategy worked. The storm passed behind me as I went to the north. Later that night I would see a weather report where the storm I avoided had produced heavy rains, hail, extreme wind and tornadoes. I made the right decision to modify my route and avoid the storm.
When I reached highway 20 south of Rockport, IL, I started heading west towards Galena. I was really getting tired of being on the motorcycle. Specifically, I was getting tired of sitting on this motorcycle seat.
The closer I got to Galena, the more the roads started to twist and the bigger the hills got. It was rather scenic. Also, the temperature started to get extremely warm again. I arrived in Galena, and made a stop to see Ulysses S Grant's adult home. A few days earlier I saw his birthplace.
It was nice to get off the motorcycle for a few minutes and walk around, but that's when I realized exactly how warm it had gotten. To make matters worse, there was absolutely no wind. The air was completely calm, which made the sweat just pour out with very little cooling effect.
I walked up a deceptively large hill to his house, snapped some photos, then walked back to where the bike was parked. I checked my phone and had received an email from the bicycle shop that was trying to repair my rear wheel while I was on vacation. Turns out the wheel was beyond repair, and it was going to cost $350 to replace it. I lamented this fact, but as you will soon discover, this was small potatoes on the grocery list of the day's problems.
Reaching Galena felt like a small milestone, because that meant I was now on my last stretch of riding for the day.
I continued down highway 20 towards Dubuque, IA. On the west side of Dubuque I was in need of another gas stop. I saw a Kwik Trip, and pulled in. My fondness for Kwik Trips has already been explained elsewhere on this site, so I will save you from another sonnet.
When I pulled up to a pump I was disappointed there was no premium gas. I thought about continuing down the highway to look for another gas station, but was out of motivation. I decided that one tank of regular gas shouldn't hurt much.
After I filled the tank I went inside to use the bathroom. I was still starving hungry, but didn't want to eat too much and spoil my hamburger I was planning on having in a couple hours. I found a fruit and yogurt parfait that looked like it would be tasty, but not overly heavy. I also bought a scotcheroo bar that I threw in my saddlebag to enjoy later in the hotel room.
It was now about 5:45 PM. I had a hundred miles to go before I was to reach my hotel in Waterloo. I also had two stops remaining: the Field Of Dreams movie location outside of Dyersville, IA, and my grandparent's grave outside of Independence, IA. Although I didn't anticipate that either stop would take very long, I started to estimate that it would be close to 8 PM before I reached the hotel. And once I got checked in and settled it would probably be 8:45 PM before I would be eating a hamburger. I hoped that the burger place didn't close early.
The Field Of Dreams site was about 25 miles away from Dubuque. I got back on highway 20 heading west, and rode steady trying to make good time. I pulled off the expressway, rode through the little down of Dyersville, then rode a few miles out into the country to the movie site. My plan was to ride in, snap a couple of photos and get back on the road. I already had logged more than 400 miles on this day, and didn't need to extend it unnecessarily.
Then the whole trip went south in a big hurry.
Right as I stopped to take a picture at the entrance to the Field of Dreams farm, a little after 6 PM, I received an alert on my motorcycle telling me the rear tire was down to 17 pounds of pressure.
That alert was very concerning, as on a hot day my tire pressure usually runs in the high 40s. As much as I didn't want to believe it, I knew what had probably happened: I ran over a screw or a nail, and I was quickly getting a flat tire. My brain deflated as fast as the rubber on the rear wheel. My blood ran cold, everything inside me felt like it sunk and I audibly lamented, "NO! NO! NO! NO!"
I rode into the visitor parking area, and stopped the bike. The tire was now down to 15 pounds. I got off the motorcycle and visibly inspected the tire, but couldn't see anything obvious sticking out from the tread on the part of the tire I could see. Between the saddlebags and the skirted fender, only about 20% of the rear wheel is visible while it's parked.
I briefly considered trying to ride the low tire back to the town of Dyersville. I didn't consider it for too long, as the rational part of my brain realized that the motorcycle was no longer safe to ride with a tire this low. I was now stranded in the middle of nowhere. This wasn't heaven, it was Iowa.
Oddly enough, my main worry wasn't about my tire. My first thought was remembering the commitment I had made to be in Ortonville, MN by 5 PM the next day so I could perform with my son's band on bass guitar. Their normal bass player was unavailable, and I was supposed to be the fill-in. If I didn't show up to play that night, they would be in a serious bind. They would have to cancel the gig and break the contract they had signed. That would not be a good situation for anyone.
I had made a promise, and now it looked highly probable that I was going to break that promise. That's bad enough when it happens with regular people, but this was a promise I had made to my son. Breaking that promise felt ten times worse.
For those of you with children, you probably understand. For those of you without children, let me try to explain. God wires into us a desire to protect our offspring at any cost. He made it part of our biology that, unless there's another part of our psyche that is broken, we cannot turn off. Even trying to forcefully suppress it is extremely difficult. I knew that me not showing up to play bass would hurt my son, and the very idea of that happening completely wrecked me.
My brain immediately slid into panic mode. My head was spinning to the point where I was unable to think straight. I was unsure what to do next. I had all sorts of plans and commitments that now had a giant wrench thrown into them. I generally don't have panic attacks, but I found myself in the middle of one.
I suddenly felt myself becoming physically ill. Thankfully there was a porta-potty nearby, and I ran into it as my body purged itself of everything I had consumed earlier in the day. Afterwards, I had to sit down on the ground for a few minutes and try to calm myself down, and come up with a plan.
Ok, one crisis at a time. The first step was to find somewhere to take the motorcycle where it could be fixed. I did some googling and learned that the closest motorcycle dealer was located in Cedar Rapids, which unfortunately was 64 miles away, and in the wrong direction. However, it was the best option available. Alright, with that decision made, the next thing I had to do was figure out how to get it there.
I called my insurance company to utilize the roadside assistance coverage that is part of my motorcycle policy. I had never used this coverage before, and discovered the system utilized an inconvenient combination of phone calls, text messages and web pages to try and arrange for someone to haul the motorcycle to the dealer. The system didn't work as smoothly as intended, and I wound up spending much more time and aggravation than I would have liked. I called the number, which texted me a link to a web page, which I then used to fill out a roadside assistance request, which the web form wouldn't allow me to enter without locking up, which caused me to call again, which got me down the wrong phone menu option, which caused me to call again until I got a human on the phone, who then took my information, which then sent me text with a link to a web page… you get the idea.
I'm a software engineer by trade. I design systems like this. I'm pretty sure this wasn't the most customer-friendly interface they could have come up with.
Through this process I discovered that my roadside assistance plan only covers 15 miles of towing, and I would need to cover the remaining 49 miles myself. My portion would be $450. Oh, and they're not going to call the towing company until I enter my credit card information and pay up. I was in a pickle, so I didn't have much choice in the matter. I gave them my card info and watched as the alert system on my phone informed me that the $450 dollar charge had been added to my credit card balance.
There wasn't much to do now but wait for the tow truck. Or so I thought.
While waiting, I called my wife and let her know about the situation. There wasn't anything she could do from 400 miles away, but I knew she would appreciate being kept in the loop.
The next thing was to figure out where I would stay that night. Obviously, my existing hotel reservations in Waterloo would no longer be needed, so I called and canceled that hotel room. Of course, canceling my reservation last minute meant I still had to pay for the room I wouldn't be using. Yay.
As luck would have it, I have some relatives who live near Cedar Rapids which is the same place my motorcycle would hopefully soon be heading. I called my aunt and uncle, and they were gracious enough to offer me their spare bedroom for the night. My uncle could also come and pick me up at the motorcycle dealership once I arrived so I wouldn't have to use a cab or Uber.
My phone rang. It was the roadside assistance people, who were calling back to inform me that they couldn't find anyone in the area who would accept the towing job at their standard reimbursement rate. That meant I was on the hook for the whole towing charge. They did find a towing company that said they would do it under their terms: I had to pay the driver directly and the price was now $640. I expressed my dissatisfaction with the price, but at this point didn't have any bargaining leverage so I had no choice but to agree. I also asked about the $450 that had already been charged and was told they would reverse that charge. Thankfully a few days later that did happen.
They gave me the name and phone number of the towing company. I asked the representative if the towing company had already been contacted, and she assured me that they had, and the towing company should be sending me a text with an ETA shortly. I sat down to wait, and kept myself occupied by stewing over the whole situation. Not a productive use of my time, but I'm being honest here.
Meanwhile, the Field Of Dreams site normally closed at 6 PM. On this particular night, however, a group of parents and kids had rented the field for the evening and were having a picnic and playing baseball. I tried to occupy my time by watching them, and walking around to take some pictures, but I couldn't turn my brain off and think about anything but the commitment I was likely going to break. At that moment I wanted to crawl under a rock and die.
I found it difficult to sit in the bleachers, so I wandered over to a security guy who was keeping an eye on the site and the picnic. I explained my predicament so he wouldn't wonder who the weird guy was, and why I was sitting in the parking lot with a motorcycle.
The security guard turned out to be a really nice guy, and we struck up a conversation. He was a music student at a nearby college, and did the security thing on the side to pay his tuition. We talked music for a while, but I soon grew antsy about the tow truck driver. After forty minutes, I had yet to receive a text.
I finally grew impatient and called the tow truck driver using the phone number I was given. As it turned out, the driver had not received confirmation from the insurance company, and had assumed I had balked at the $640 towing fee, so up until I called he wasn't planning on coming.
It's a good thing I called, otherwise I would have been sitting there a long, long time. The driver told me that he would come rescue me, but it would take at least an hour for him to arrive.
The sun went down, and the mosquitoes came out. The temp was still very warm and humid, but there was no wind at all to bring any relief. I finished off my bottle of water that I had in my saddlebag. I also munched on the scotcheroo bar I had bought at the Kwik Trip with the original intention of eating it in my hotel room, not standing in a gravel lot next to a corn field. My hunger was really getting intense. The scotcheroo helped, but wasn't near filling enough.
Soon, the picnic wrapped up and the guests started to leave. The security guy drove his golf cart over to inform me that he wasn't going to leave until someone came to rescue me. He said he could probably make some calls and find someone in the area to put me up for the night if I needed somewhere to stay. That was very nice of him, but I explained that if the tow truck could get me to Cedar Rapids then I would have lodging there.
Whenever I would see headlights in the distance I would get my hopes up only to have them dashed once I discovered it wasn't a truck.
Around 10:20 PM, an hour and a half since I last talked to the tow driver on the phone, he finally arrived. We loaded the motorcycle on his trailer in the dark, him using a small penlight and me using the flash on my phone for illumination.
Frankly he didn't strap the bike down correctly, but at this point I wasn't going to argue. I made a few suggestions which he ignored, so I just let it go. If I angered him and he decided not to perform the tow then my already large pickle would greatly increase in size. I just prayed that despite not being strapped down properly that the motorcycle would make the trip without damage. It was nearly 11 PM before we pulled out of the Field Of Dreams site.
It was about an hour ride from the field where the motorcycle had broken down to the dealership in Cedar Rapids. Thankfully the tow driver was a pretty nice guy and we had a good chat to pass the time. Inexplicably, he chose to leave the A/C turned off in his truck on this hot and humid night. I cringed with every bump in the road, knowing each jolt was transferring directly to my improperly fastened motorcycle back on the trailer.
My uncle was there waiting for us when we arrived at the dealership in Cedar Rapids. After finding a small hill we could use to minimize the angle of the ramps, the driver unstrapped the bike. Trying to roll the motorcycle off of the trailer with a flat rear tire took all three of us straining to roll it backwards. Once it was off the trailer I started up the bike and slowly rode it over close to the service door. The flat tire put up a lot of resistance.
I filled out the "night drop" form and slid it along with my key FOB through the slot in the door. Then I paid the tow truck driver his fee. At this point in time more than six hours had passed since I first broke down. Not at all the way I planned to spend the evening.
The tow driver did feel sorry for me and covered the tax on the tow himself. So it cost me an even $600 to get the bike from Dyersville, IA to Cedar Rapids, IA.
My uncle took me to his house where my aunt was waiting for us. She offered me food. Having not eaten much since breakfast, I was starving hungry. However, I was still in such a twisted mental state I wasn't sure my stomach could handle a full meal. I did eat a little bit of cantaloupe that she had in the fridge, and it was admittedly tasty.
We sat at the kitchen table and talked for a while. Around 1 AM I decided it would be best if I could try to get some sleep, but I was so wound up I wasn't sure how successful that endeavor would be. It was that odd paradox where I was bone-tired, but still mentally going a million miles per hour. I went upstairs to their spare bedroom and decided to at least give sleep a try.
The day started with great excitement, and ended on an extremely unhappy note. I tried to focus on the positives. Despite everything that had gone wrong, it could have been a lot worse.
First, the TPMS system did its job and alerted me to the low rear tire before it went completely flat, allowing me to pull over safely. Having a flat tire on a motorcycle at speed can easily cause a crash.
Second, while the remoteness of where I broke down wasn't ideal, it could have happened in an even worse location. I had been riding in some rather sketchy areas of Chicago earlier that day. Had I broken down in a bad area of Joliet, who knows what the outcome would have been?
Third, it was a blessing that I happened to have family members in Cedar Rapids who could come pick me up from the motorcycle dealership and give me a place to stay. Had I not, I would have had to find a hotel, then take a cab or Uber in the middle of the night to get to it. Plus it gave me an unexpected visit with my family.
Admittedly, as I laid there in bed it was difficult to focus on the positives.
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This page last updated on 08/28/2023