Jeepster, if I was a tough sonofa I'd have camped, instead of wasting money on motels (note:still happy I wasted money on motels). The carb tear-down was no big deal. I just sat on the curb and took my time. The older couple who were loading their car eyed me suspiciously, until I greeted them with a warm and cheery, "Good morning." I'm just trying to show normal people that not all motorcyclists are murderous lunatics (although I am, I put on a good show).
Rosinante, I hear ya. I've kicked myself many times because of situations like that. Still working on it.
Thanks again everyone for the compliments. I've always wanted to write about my various trips, but by the end of most of them I just want to forget. My LeMans trip is a good example. I'm a fan of Hunter S. Thompson and really wanted to write up a Gonzo-type report, but I don't really like to embellish the truth. I just write how things come to me, and when I see an emergency vehicle hauling down the highway I don't naturally think, "It looked like some sort of giant robot, all flashing lights, wildly careening down the black ribbon of interstate, maybe on its way to the scene of a grisly murder." I just don't. That trip went so horribly wrong I think I must have blacked out half of it, so no story there. Jim
