It's A Gas Cap Stupid

Paperwork has been shuffled and the Grandpa bike has been rolled in to the shop. The mechanics have gone through the bike from top to bottom. Brakes have been replaced (even though they were good - just a thing I have...) all the fluids have been changed, gaskets replaced we're nearly ready to roll.

It's getting close to lunch so we walk to the McDonalds across the street. We're feeling fairly excited about the prospects of getting back on the road. The past 24 hours have been stressful for my wife and I.

In case it's been a while since you've read the beginning (or if I didn't mention it before) my wife is new to riding - brand new - this is her first trip across the country on a motorcycle. She's been on a couple of day trips in the past three months but that is the extent of her riding experience. She's been through hell and earned her stripes and we're only on our third day of our two week trip. She's lived through mechanical breakdowns, flat tires, delay after delay, a dead guy on the highway, a thunderstorm from hell, nearly being killed at 70mph, the loss of a motorcycle that she "loved" nearly as much as I did, a ride in a van with a lady that sells sexy underwear out of it, and now the purchase of a new motorcycle - she keeps telling me that she loves me and she trust me - I don't know which one I fear most!

We order a burger and a drink from McDonalds, woof it down and head back to Monarch Harley Davidson to see if our bike is ready. As I walk in to the mechanics area the dealership manager pulls me to the side, it seems that we have a problem. Keep in mind that when I bought the bike I told these guy's just how important it is to get us on the road, I went through everything that we had been through in the past couple of days, and let them know that my wife was extremely stressed by all of the events. I know this weighed on his mind when he said;

"We can't get the gas tank open. It has a locking cap on it. The owner has the key and he's gone to Sturgis."

NO, it's not possible, you are pulling my leg right - just a good laugh before you give me my keys and send me on my way.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do"

I think my response, it was a rant and a plea all wrapped in to one, went something like this: "Okay, here's an idea - open the fucking tank NOW. I don't care if you have to take a torch and cut the cap in half, if you need to pry it off with a screw driver. I don't care if it EVER locks again, I need to be able to put gas in the tank to drive down the road and you need to make it possible for me to do it. You don't understand, my wife has said that if we're not out of here and on our way - she's flying back to Phoenix and she doesn't care if I come with her. Get the cap off, really, I don't care how."

"We will try again to contact the owner..." at this point my wife and best friend walked up to us, they both have a built in radar that let's them know when I'm about to lose all control and start acting less than civil.

My wife asked what's going on, I told her. I knew my death was inevitable. I prayed it would come sooner than later, for it to be swift and painless. I knew better. I knew it would be cold and calculated, drawn out in a manner that would be akin to a mid-evil torture chamber, a slow and agonizing death, one meant to ensure maximum pain and suffering while I waited for the darkness to ascend.

She turned and walked away. This surprised me some but scared me more. I followed only to discover this wasn't my brightest idea of the day. When we arrived at a point far enough from the dealership that she safely felt no-one else could hear, she let loose. A stream of tears clouded with the profanity that had been building for days. I felt like I was witnessing the eruption of Mount St. Helens. The hot emotional lava poured forth in threatening promise after promise. I knew that I had but one option - they had to get the gas cap off or I had to sacrifice myself to the road gremlins and the gods that govern travel disaster. These would be the only options that would satisfy my wife's anger and frustration.

My friends again arrived to save me, at least temporarily, and while my wife's best friend comforted her and told her about her nightmare trips I managed to skulk off and head back to the mechanics bay to see what kind of progress, if any, was being made.

The mechanic was continuing to struggle with the locked cap when I arrived. I pleaded with him to do anything in his power, I didn't care if he ruined the cap - I would buy a new one - just do anything possible so we could get on the road. He must have recognized the desperation in my eyes and in my voice as he simply nodded, walked over to his tool box and brought out an a key blank (gas cap keys for on a Harley are round like the old fashioned soda machine keys) hit the grinder a couple of times, tried it in the gas cap, went back made some adjustments, tried it again, made some more adjustments and within five minutes the cap was open. I guess you need to plead your case to the right people to get anything accomplished.

The dealership apologized for the inconvenience; filled our tank with gas and we were finally, once again, on the road to Sturgis

Grandpa, bike, McDonalds, motorcycle, riding, mechanical breakdowns, flat tires, dead, highway, thunderstorm, dealership, mechanics, gas tank, Sturgis, Phoenix, death, Harley, road, Motorcycles, Bikers, Motorcycle Travel