Thanks to an overwhelming demand, it’s time to get this story back on track.
Dashing across a windy plane nervously spying the weather looming ahead, resolving to forge on at any cost, I twist the throttle…I’m met with disappointment.
After crossing the border into Utah, I set my focus on making up time lost sightseeing in Northern Arizona. However, due to a hard hitting headwind which would intermittently change to a cornering headwind, progress is difficult. The dry, hot conditions also blow up a considerable amount of dust, making the drive that much more miserable.
About 20 miles into Utah, I stopped because the wind and dust were grating on my nerves. I had also noticed a decrease in performance since crossing into Utah.
Here, I pulled over to regain my wits and do a little roadside diagnosis:
It felt like it was missing on one cylinder, so I pulled the plug wires one at a time to find out which one it was and found it was the front right cylinder. I pulled the plug out and found it was fouled BADLY. A quick pull on the rest of the plugs revealed that the front right was beginning to foul, but still firing; and the rear two were running fine, if not a little lean. I had a little “pucker” at this point because my first thought was that I had a carb issue, like a stuck float or worse. I cleaned my plugs, swapped out the fouled plugs for the lean ones, and hit the road back on all four cylinders.
In my route planning I had made an error going into Page because it made for a difficult detour to the I-15. I needed to take HWY 89 in Utah, back into Arizona, so that I could hook up with HWY 389 to HWY 59 to HWY 9 in Utah. It was only a 50 mile or so detour, but with the wind blowing and dust in the air, I was less than pleased at myself for having to head south again. As soon as I was back in Arizona, I fouled the same plug again. Cleaned and swapped, I was back on the road.
Now is where my nightmare really began. From Fredonia to Colorado City I fouled 2 plugs; after the Utah border to a gas station outside of Hurricane I fouled a plug almost every mile. By the time I got to the gas station outside of Hurricane, I was running on just one cylinder at about 25mph and 3000rpm. I stopped pulling over and cleaning my plugs when the shoulder got dangerous and decided to just ride it out until I got somewhere that I could do a real fix. Lacking any real place to stop I found this gas station and the nice lady at the counter didn’t have a problem with me doing some work to the bike in the parking lot.
So, glowing red with anger, I pulled my tools from my saddlebags and ripped into the heart of the beast. Fearing a carb issue, that’s where I focused my anger.
After about 2 hours of tedious work in the wind here’s were I got:
Carbs off, I blew air thru all the passages and checked all my float levels. Everything checked out. I then set the pilot screws to stock settings and put everything back together, cleaning the spark plugs one more time.
She started right up without any problem, so I thanked the nice lady, bought an energy drink and left in a rush as it was dusk with darkness approaching very quickly. Also, there were a nice set of thunderheads building to the north that I didn’t want to spend the night sleeping under. Tonight wasn’t looking good.
I made it 20 mile into hurricane, Utah and had fouled 3 plugs again, plus I was running so rich I burned thru a tank of gas in 20 miles. I needed to find the problem, or buy a greyhound ticket.
Once again I dismounted in a rage not knowing what to do and found a friendly gas station to dismantle my steed. I had decent cell phone service, so I opted to phone a friend in hopes of winning this million dollar sweepstakes. My Dad being the genius he is assisted with an over the phone diag which consisted of him saying to pull the carbs. I cursed a lot.
After about 2 hours of over the phone diag, we had nothing. The best thing we could come up with was, “check the choke cable”. My dad called in another expert, my cousin who is going to MMI. His advice: pull the carbs and look at the floats, followed by check the choke. No good. Finally, while discussing the ride north to get where I was, postulate on the dust in the air and the effect on air filters. With little less to go after at this point, I pulled the air filter. It was gummy and dirty as any air filter I’d ever seen. Why didn’t I notice that when I pulled the carbs earlier?
With the air filter out, I took a test ride down the street about 15 miles. I was back in business, runnin’ like a bandit.
That’s about when it started to rain…
It was late, cold, and raining when I hit I-15 north. I set a goal of Cedar City for that nights camp spot and was mostly content riding in the rain as long as I had somewhere in mind to stop. That is until the rain REALLY started pouring and I hit a section of road work.
Learning to ride in the mostly dry climate of Arizona, I have always been warned about the “oil strip” in the middle of the road and how hazardous it is when it starts to rain. With the road construction, I was being forced to ride on either the oil strip, or the wake up bumps. Add in the fact that it was cold, dark and I was tired and this was probably the most frightened I had ever been on a motorcycle. I needed to stop soon, but was reluctant to set up camp in the pouring rain, and there wasn’t a hotel to be seen. What had I gotten myself into?
Fortune smiled on me when I saw the sign for Cedar City 5mi. as I was ready to stop, but the rain was still coming and the weather was getting colder. Just as I reached Cedar City limits, the rain turned into sleet and I was finished. I made the decision to stop at a hotel for the night. Comfort Inn was calling my name with a hot shower and clean bed. I pulled in at 2am and slept like the dead.
Here’s what I woke to in the morning:
These are the good old days!
