The next few days were full of unrest. The whole event had left me a little traumatized. It's not like I ever felt my life had been in danger, but the sheer amount of stress of the whole situation had completely exhausted me, and messed with my head.
In fact, about a month later my son's band was traveling through western South Dakota and the tire on their U-Haul trailer had shredded miles from nowhere. When I received the text about what had happened, it actually triggered a PTSD type reaction in me. I felt nauseous and had lots of anxiety that lasted for several hours beyond the point in time when they got the tire repaired and were safely back on the road.
For a couple of days after I returned, I actually had thoughts of just abandoning my motorcycle in Cedar Rapids and walking away from the whole situation. Obviously, this wasn't a logical choice that I would actually follow-through with, but there were times when that's the way I felt.
The day after I got back my wife asked me if I had thought any more about purchasing a Janus motorcycle, and I responded that at that point in time I wasn't even sure if I wanted to own a motorcycle any longer. I was mentally spent over the situation.
Thankfully, a couple of days later my rationality returned. I wanted to retrieve my motorcycle. My apathy about the motorcycle was replaced by extremely vexing thoughts. I was worried. Worried that the tow driver bent the frame with the incorrect way he had strapped the bike to the trailer. Worried that the dealership would install the tire incorrectly, and/or damage the motorcycle. Worried that while the motorcycle was sitting at the dealership, someone would break into my trunk and saddlebags and steal my gear.
Most of the worry had no basis in reality. Yes, all those things could potentially happen, but the likelihood was low. It was like worrying that I would be struck by lightning. The odds aren't zero, but so low that it is unproductive to dwell on the possibility.
Nevertheless, try and tell your brain that. My thoughts were consuming me. I was unproductive during the day, and was having trouble sleeping at night. When I would sleep I would have nightmares.
When I had last spoken to the service guy before I left, he was going to price tires and call me with an estimate of what my repair bill would be. As I drove from Cedar Rapids, IA to Ortonville, MN, I kept expecting my phone to ring. It never did. I thought maybe I would receive a call on Saturday, but again my phone was silent.
If I hadn't heard from him by late Saturday afternoon, I intended to give him a call back. However, after I returned home I got busy with life and it was Saturday evening before I thought about making the call. Oops. And the dealership was closed on Mondays, and Tuesday was the 4th of July. Wednesday would be the next opportunity I would have to call, so I had three full days to stew about things.
An old high school friend of mine (Mark) had heard about my dilemma, and contacted me with an offer. He had a motorcycle trailer and a truck. He said we could drive down and bring the motorcycle home. Once my motorcycle was safely back in Sioux Falls I could have it repaired at my leisure with a mechanic that I trust. I told him I was seriously considering his offer, and would let him know.
The Tundra Girl was all for this idea. She too was having fears about what could possibly happen. I told her that there was nothing I could do before Wednesday, as the dealership was closed. But I did decide that when I finally got in contact with the dealership, if they hadn't yet ordered a tire I would tell them to forget about it. Then I would figure out the logistics of when Mark and I could make the trip to retrieve the motorcycle.
That Wednesday, I was busy for most of the day fighting a "fire" at work, so it wasn't until late afternoon when I was able to call the dealership. I will note that they had yet to call me either, like I was told they would. When I finally got in contact with the service guy, I was all prepared to tell him to hold off on doing anything as I was going to come and haul the bike home unrepaired. Much to my surprise, he informed me that my motorcycle was actually in the shop as we spoke, and that the service tech was almost done replacing the tire.
I was surprised to hear this, as when I left the previous Friday I was told that it would be at least a week for them to obtain a tire. Also, not getting a phone call from them to confirm the pricing, as I was promised would happen, made me think that nothing had been done on the Cedar Rapids end of things. Apparently I was wrong.
I hung up, and actually felt a wave of relief wash over me. I think just knowing the state of the situation made a world of difference in my mental state. The ambiguity of the unknown seemed to be the source of all my unrest.
So now I just had to make plans on when I could go retrieve the motorcycle. I decided to drive back to Cedar Rapids on Friday afternoon. Then I could spend the night and return the rental car on Saturday morning, and have the whole day on Saturday to ride back to Sioux Falls. It was tempting to leave a day earlier on Thursday, but by waiting until Friday I only had to use four hours of vacation time from work.
I arranged to stay with my aunt and uncle on Friday night. I told them that, for their trouble, I would take them out to eat after I arrived that evening.
On Friday morning, I had a bout with paranoia. My brain couldn't squash the thought that I would drive to Cedar Rapids and return the rental car, only then to discover the motorcycle wasn't actually fixed. I decided to call the dealer and just confirm that the bike was ready for pick-up.
The service guy seemed a little miffed that I questioned what he had said two days before. He assured me that not only was the tire replaced, but they also had washed the motorcycle. Wow! I hadn't expected them to wash the bike, so that came as a surprise. The phone call helped quell my fears.
Friday afternoon came, and I loaded up the rental car with my bag of clothes and then hit the road. It rained almost the entire way from Sioux Falls to Cedar Rapids. That made me glad for a couple of reasons. First, seeing as our region was in serious drought, we needed the moisture. Second, it reinforced that waiting until Friday was the correct decision. Had I driven back to Cedar Rapids on Thursday, I would have had to ride my motorcycle through the rain the whole way back.
I was almost to Fort Dodge, IA, when my wife called. She had been out running errands and came out of the store only to discover that her car wouldn't start, and now she was stranded on the opposite side of town from our house. From the symptoms described I was pretty sure it was a dead battery.
Her car was eight years old, and it still had the original battery. I think that was a pretty good run. Other than the inconvenience, one can't complain too much about getting eight years out of a car battery.
Halfway across Iowa, there wasn't much I could do other than to offer her emotional support, and give her some advice. She decided to call my sister-in-law to come and rescue her. If they felt ambitious they would call back and I could try and talk them through the process to jump start the car.
She called back a couple times with updates to the situation. The final time she called, the car was running. She had put the car hood up, and a good Samaritan parked nearby had a portable jump starter and was able to get the car started. That was a relief. She could drive home and then park the car until I had a chance to fix it.
In the meantime she could drive my truck. I don't drive my truck very often, as I commute 100% of the time by bicycle. It is mostly used by the Tundra Boy these days to haul his drums to gigs. His band wasn't playing this weekend, so my truck was just sitting in the garage. That was fortunate.
I got to my aunt and uncle's house right at 7 PM. My cousin also pulled up at the same time. She was going to join us for supper as well.
We all piled in my uncle's car and went to a trendy restaurant called "Hip Stir." They have a very eclectic menu. The owners describe the restaurant atmosphere as "Victorian steampunk". On advice from my relatives I ordered the Chipotle Miso Udon, which was kind of a Pho-style dish. It was good.
That night I slept a lot better in the hide-a-bed than I had a week prior. Not having the uncertainty of the crisis hanging over my head made a huge difference in my sleep quality.
The next morning I got up and had breakfast with my aunt and uncle. The rental car place was about 1/2 mile from the motorcycle dealership, so my plan was to drop off the car and then walk to the dealership to get the motorcycle. I walk all the time so a half mile walk isn't a big deal to me.
My uncle was concerned about the lack of sidewalks in the area, so he insisted he go with me to give me a ride after dropping off the rental car. I didn't protest too loud.
I made a stop to top off the gas tank on the rental car, then met my uncle at the rental agency. I returned the car without issue, and because I hadn't kept it as long as I originally estimated I got a good portion of the rental fee reduced. Originally I thought I would have to pay more than $700 for the rental car, and the final charges were under $500. So that was a little bit of good news in an otherwise bad situation.
My uncle gave me a ride over to the dealership, and then hung around for a few minutes just to make sure everything was OK. I paid my bill for the motorcycle tire replacement, which came to $575. Then they brought the motorcycle out of storage.
The first thing I noticed when the service person pulled up was that the motorcycle was not washed. The bike was still just as dirt and bug crusted as it was when I dropped it off. Not a single drop of water had touched it.
Now, when I first brought the motorcycle in to have the tire repaired I wasn't expecting the bike to be washed. When the service guy told me it had been washed I was surprised. Now I was equally surprised to see it dirty. I guess I'm not sure what the point was to lie to me about the bike being washed? The only thing the lie did was effectively make me question that the rest of the repair was done correctly.
Seeing as they lied about the wash, I crawled under the bike and verified that a new tire actually had been installed. At least I was able to confirm that they were telling the truth about that part of the repair. Hopefully they put everything back together properly and I wouldn't discover 100 miles away that the drive belt shredded because it hadn't been aligned correctly.
With the motorcycle looking like it was ready to go, I bid my uncle farewell for the second time in a week. I then loaded up the bike and put on my riding gear and used the restroom. It actually surprised me how long this whole process took. Every time I thought I was ready to go I would think of another little thing I needed to do. It was a little after 10 AM when I pulled out of McGrath Powersports.
Less than a block away I got a low tire pressure alert on the rear wheel. What???!!! My stomach sank. I flipped the Ride Command screen over to view the TPMS information, and saw that the rear tire was at 37 pounds. Recommended cold pressure on the rear is 41 pounds.
I really, really didn't want to go back to the dealership. I just wanted to get home and put this whole ordeal behind me. I tentatively continued down the road and noticed that the tire didn't seem to be losing air. I decided to keep an eye on it, go fill up the tank and perhaps the gas station would have an air chuck where I could bring the tire up to proper inflation.
About a mile down the road I came across a gas station recommended to me by my uncle. The tire hadn't lost any pressure, and in fact had gained a pound as the tire got warmer. So at least it appeared to be holding air.
I pulled in and noticed that while the station did have an air hose, you had to put in your credit card to activate it. I decided I didn't want to use my credit card for a few pounds of air. I was hoping that once I got out on the highway the tires would heat up enough to turn off the low pressure warning.
I topped off the tank, which didn't require much as I had ridden less than 40 miles on the current tank of gas. I filled up in Dubuque, and broke down in Dyersville which isn't that far down the road.
Before I was able to get back on the bike, a guy at the pump next to me struck up a conversation. He was really intrigued about my motorcycle. He currently rode a Harley, but was looking to change. I answered his questions and did uncompensated evangelism for the Indian brand. The guy was surprised when I told him they are made "right here in Iowa."
After he wished me well, I pulled out and started on my way home. There are no route options from Cedar Rapids to Sioux Falls that can be described as scenic. The path between the two cities is pretty barren. At best I could have found some new highways that I've never taken, but at this point I just wanted to get home ASAP. I hopped on interstate 380 heading northwest.
For the first 100 miles I kept compulsively checking my TPMS screen. I was in fear that I would suddenly see that rear tire pressure go down. Thankfully once warmed up it stayed around 43 PSI for the rest of the day. While they hadn't fully inflated the tire after installing it, it was full enough to get me home. I could properly inflate the tire at my leisure once I was back in my own garage.
The wind was extremely strong, and would blow hard straight into me the whole ride back to Sioux Falls. This dropped my gas mileage almost 10 MPG from normal.
Another thing it did was make the wind noise in my helmet loud. Really, really loud. One of the benefits most people tout with a full-faced helmet is the reduction of wind noise, but I've noticed my particular helmet (Scorpion Covert FX) actually makes sounds louder. I'm not sure how this is possible, but it does. It's like the wind and exhaust noise enter the helmet and then bounce around.
Regardless of what helmet I'm wearing, I wear earplugs when I ride above 50 mph. Most of the time this helps tremendously. On this particular day, with the wind blowing hard against me at interstate speeds, the noise was deafening even with earplugs. By the end of the day my head was spinning from the noise, and my ears rang for days afterwards. That's not good, as it indicates I did some damage to my ears. I'm not sure what the solution would be except perhaps to ride slower when the wind is blowing that hard.
I was horribly uncomfortable on the seat, but chose just to suck it up and push through the pain. My only stops the whole way home were for gas.
My first gas stop was at the Kwik Trip in Mason City. Because of the previous week's fiasco, I knew exactly which exit not to miss.
I filled the tank, then went inside to grab something to eat. I was pretty hungry, and my wife had raved about their chicken and potatoes bowl, so I grabbed one.
I stood outside the store in the shade and ate my lunch. It was pretty good.
As I was getting back on the bike, another guy came up to me to get a closer look at my motorcycle and ask me questions. I am still amazed at how often this Indian gathers comments and starts conversations. From what I hear from other owners, if I were to buy a Janus those are even more of a curiosity.
I continued north on I-35 to Albert Lea, MN, then headed west on I-90 towards Sioux Falls. The temp was pleasant in the mid-80s, and the sun was out. I'm glad it wasn't raining all day again. However, I would have gladly traded the head wind for a tail wind.
I was hoping I could get home on just two tanks of gas, but the wind removed that possibility. On the western side of Minnesota I was running low on fuel, but decided to try and stretch my tank to make it to Worthington. There is a gas station there with which I am particularly familiar called the Blue Line Travel Center. They have a baked goods section, supplied by a local bakery. Among the many items they offer, they happen to have the best scotcheroos I have ever eaten. Not only are they tasty, but they also are quite large. If I'm showing restraint, I'll cut one into four squares and enjoy it over the course of a few days. If I'm not showing restraint, well…
About 15 miles from Worthington I passed a couple of riders on Harley Davidsons. I waved as I went by.
I pulled into the gas station and proceeded to fill the tank, when a couple minutes later these riders also pulled into a nearby pump. It was a husband and wife. The guy came over and looked at my motorcycle to figure out what it was. We started talking. He and his wife were riding out to western Colorado to ride the Million Dollar Highway. I told him I had ridden that highway before and said he would enjoy it. We wished each other well, and he went over and started filling his tank.
Once I was done getting gas, I walked over to the couple. As I walked up I said, "I'm not sure if you're into this sort of thing…" They both got saucer-eyed like I was a swinger looking for people to join me. At that point I finished my thought and said, "... but this gas station has the best scotcheroos ever!"
The guy smiled, laughed and told me he drove truck for a living and was very familiar with the baked goodies at this stop.
I went in, bought my scotcheroo, wished the biker couple well and hit the road. Only about an hour to go. I'm not sure why I didn't think to take a picture of the scotcheroo. I devoured the whole thing later that evening at the Indigenous concert. It was good, as expected.
Back on the interstate, around Adrian, MN I was about 10 seconds (or less) from being directly behind a motorhome whose tire exploded. I suddenly saw the tire debris on the road, and was able to ride around it. Then I saw the motorhome pulling over with a bare rim where a tire used to be. Having just gone through a flat tire situation, I empathized with them.
At 4:20 PM I pulled into Sioux Falls. As usual I stopped at a gas station about a mile from my house to do a final fill up and get my end of trip mileage. And as usual, I was anticipating getting home so much that I forgot to snap a photo of the gas stop. Not that there's anything exciting about a picture of a gas station.
I got home, unloaded the bike and gave the cat some attention. An hour later we headed out the door to see the band Indigenous play downtown at the Levitt Shell. It felt good to finally have the whole saga behind me. All that was left to do now was pay off the giant credit card bill that I had left in my wake. And I should probably wash the motorcycle.
See the summary of the trip...
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This page last updated on 08/28/2023