three weeks to change a tire/wheel.
Posted: Sat Jan 17, 2009 11:23 pm
This afternoon,
It was 36 degrees (only -30F three days ago) and I finally re-
installed the front wheel that now has a 'new-to-me" >50% Maxxis
front tire. The tires were left here two years ago, begging to be
taken for a ride--so I will oblige them--very soon. This wheel came
off my GDR bike that flat wore out the front tire a K270--in some
6500 miles--mind you it rode some 4K miles on weak/blown fork seals.
I pulled this wheel some 3 weeks ago at temps around 0-F and changed
this tire at Jeff Saline' in the heated comfort of a 57F
garage/Harbor Freight tire machine. Boy was that nice!
This tire changing escapade all started as a trip to Rapid City where
I was going to drive my friend, a Viet Nam Vet, Jerry M. to the FT.
Meade VA-hospital for a hernia repair--all between 3-day cycles of
prairie blizzards. Because we are so far from anything, (why, last
week, we have to call FedEx for sunshine) we try to combine a lot of
things when we have to drive very far. ie nearest Sears is: 225 miles
West, 205 miles East, about 200 miles North. Jerry wanted a driver
to get him back home from the out patient surgery, and he volunteered
me!
The night before, and after a wx check:
"Let me take the suburban, so that with 4x4, we can get further into
the ditch before the snow drifts gobble our car." Being a man of
adventure (He was a SeaBee), Jerry thought that sounded like a
delightful idea--until later, when I showed him the .45 and told him
where the spare magazines were kept.
"What is that for?"
"Yeti" aka BigFoot, etc.
"You going to shoot a Big Foot with a .45?"
Heck no, I am going to shoot you so he has a snack!
A man has got to know his limitations. Besides, Jerry is `flavored'
with Agent Orange, and I just know Big Foot likes the flavor of
Orange!
So off we go. With much mirth and amusement, we depart into the gale
of blowing snow. We will hit the 0845 Blunt United Methodist service
where my wife is preaching that morning before we push westward.
This rev has the day off, a Colt .45, a tank full of gas and a friend
that is flavored with Agent Orange. Life is good.
These trips are an important part of the prairie-people's life as we
are able to combine a medical trip with a trip to some kind of visit
to an essential supply center, like, Taco Bell or Golden Corral. We
might even go to some place like the Sear's store and pick up tools
we ordered on line but only if it does not interfere with stopping at
the motorcycle shop. Even in the dead of winter, an hour at the
motorcycle shop is better than an hour at work. Unfortunately, those
people at the Kawasaki shop believe that in the winter-between
blizzards--it is pointless to be open on Sunday afternoon, and they
are closed.
I did not mention that I went to Jerry's ranch to pick him up, where
he lives some 13 miles off the highway that his place can be reached
by going down the well worn path, cough, known as the Canning Road,
or by going down the less beaten path, that takes you over hill, over
dale, requiring a map left by Cortez to find his place or a GPS that
was updated yesterday with a downlink from the space station. My
GPS has the map links from the Gemini space program so I elect to
take the long way around. Good thing finding his place makes the
program "Lost" look like Manhattan if you approach his place down the
less beaten path after a snowstorm and it has been blowing for 3
days. By the way, the well worn path is no bargain; the road is a
full 66 feet wide and graveled with round stones/rocks are one half
the size of golf balls and marbles that are thrown at your windshield
by every vehicle that you meet. Hardly any vehicles here have
a `fully intact' windshield, and most look like they were used for
batting practice at a softball game. Anytime you see a sparkling
windshield on a ranch vehicle, you know they just got out of the body
shop and have not been home yet.
For grins and giggles, I am using the automobile windshield mount for
my Garmin 76CSx, the one that lied to me last summer during the GDR
and gave a compass heading that is 180degrees off and nearly left us
stranded in a Wyoming bog. I elect to keep the `burb' on roads that
I know and will attempt to validate the `error' of the GPS. Arriving
at Jerry's, I show him the GPS, and describe the antelope/goat path
short-cut I was going to come down to get to his place to just save a
lot of time, you know, 6-7-8 minutes by taking a short-cut, right
after days and days of blowing snow. Cowboys have a lot of famous
saying, the 2d most famous saying, "I know a short cut!" only 2d to
the one, "Hey, watch this." The 3rd most famous might be, "I was
following my GPS."
Jerry just laughed, "All those roads are drifted shut we don't even
take the tractors down them!" or horses, or a suburban, apparently.
Good thing I did not go that way, as it would have put the final
objective of the Golden Corral and Bourbon Chicken in grave doubt. I
again checked the space-station connection to the GPS and again, they
ignored my request, "Are the South Dakota goat paths snowed shut?"
As I said, "So off we go. With much mirth and amusement, we depart
into the gale of blowing snow."
As we leave his place, Jerry is tossing his coat, gloves and hat into
the back he spies the pile of 6 tires and 3 KLR wheels protruding
slightly above the 3rd row of seats. Giving me a puzzled look, he
knows that this is not my first rodeo, and that something else is
going to take place besides BBQ ribs and a hernia repair. I just
laugh as he understands nothing happens in a vacuum and we are off to
the land of OZ (Rapid City, SD) where you have more than two choices
on the bar/menu of 1. cheeseburger deluxe with cheese or 2. without.
Normally, a smart cage-bound KiLeRista does all your vehicle
maintenance before you leave: oil, water, wiper fluid, tire pressure
checks so you can get in the car and GO. Got to use that 75mph speed
limit for something practical . All systems are go, except the tire
pressure. The plunging temps have put the tire pressure at 35, and
they should be at 45. no sweat, just pull into a ranch-gas station
and top off the tires. Problem is, compressing air, often (=always)
captures water, and every station we stopped at, the air deliver
systems are all frozen shut. Yep, often = always. So after 3
attempts to pump air at three ranch/truck stops we fully validate the
premise that often = always frozen air lines, we push Westward with a
45 mph cross wind and gusts that rock the truck for then next 200
miles. We will do a tire pressure check at Jeff's.
Miles and miles of gusting conditions and scarce State Highway
Patrol, we arrive at Wall to pay the rent on the Coffee we drank in
Pierre. A stop at Wall, SD is MANDATORY for every pilgrim going
West. If you did not know that, you are now, duly informed.
The BP station is booming with weary folks, tired of holding a 20
degree correction into the wind, and tanking up on more gas and
coffee. Apparently, the food is not so good, as Jerry opens his
door, finding a hot meal, strewn all over the pavement, next to our
vehicle. Politely, we reposition so as not to disturb the artwork of
partially digested but fully scattered deluxe cheeseburger and fries
perhaps without cheese. The ambiance and smell kept us from
examining the contents in a proper CSI fashion. I think it really
was a time limitation, not food aversion.
The clock is ticking and Sears still 50 miles west-- waits for no
one. West bound on I-90- I call Jeff, who is now approximately 55
miles away and tell him we will be at his place in 1hr+15 min with a
short stop at Sears to pick up an online order.
Sears, ah, the smell of tools. We walk around, looking for the pick
up point, stumbling into the tool areas where only those with big-
checkbooks go we get `bounced' out of there--before finally arriving
at the destination of video, touch-screen service titled: Customers
Service big city style. We know that we are finally in the Mail
Order pick-up area because the light is so dim in the area; you
cannot read the scattered pages of the National Inquirer.
So begins the next hour of 5-minute package pickup.
A TV screen blinks its voiceless message at us:
Touch HERE for service. Two old vets just grin at each other.
The mechanically enhanced Gomer-ette (I think she is female) using
broken syllables, commands us to,
"En-ter or spe-eak your `O-dor' num-Ber, please"
"I'm a two, but I think Jerry might be a 4 by now. He stepped in
something back at Wall."
The machine, blinks and says more forcefully, "Enter you ORDER # or
scan your receipt" for service PLEASE!" Gee, a really touchy, touch
screen.
Oh, you want the ORDER number, not how I smell.
I was wondering how the touch screen, Gomer-ette knew we were
cowboys with cheeseburger vegetation on our shoes.
I smile dumbly at Jerry, and pull out the receipt that I printed at
home from shopping on line. Best way for a man to go shopping -
nobody but the keyboard knows how confused you are at the agony of
shopping. That receipt finally puts the touch screen TV at ease
because it contains that all-important, Mark of the Beast you know,
the bar code. And the phrase paid in full. Everyone has bar codes
now days; even cheeseburgers--with Cheese.
The screen blinks, whirrs and blinks some more, inverts my name, like
that never happens, and tells me Mr. Martin,---`your order will be
ready in approximately 3 months from Wednesday.'
In about 15 minutes, a nice young man named 'Ricky' comes out with 2
of the 10 items and says, "Here are two of the items, sign here.
I'll go back and get the rest of them."
Ah, no.
Jerry can barely contain himself, wanting to protect the poor hapless
rev from these big city meanies.
I look at where he wants me to sign-
It's another, "Mark of the beast devices." He wants me to sign
a `screen' without giving me all the products.
Ah, no.
I smile kindly at him, and say, "You go get the rest of them, and
THEN I will sign for the items." I hear Jerry take a breath .
Ricky looks blankly at me, replies "OK" and disappears through the
tall swinging doors that have brought washers and dryers, stoves and
ladders to the other 666 people that registered with Ms Gomer-ette
touchy-screen, AFTER we registered. Do you think there might be a
problem?
About 3 weeks later, "Ricky" comes back and says, we don't have your
tool sets that you ordered. What we are going to do is give you a
refund."
Ah, no.
I just smile, and think, this is not my first rodeo.
Hey Ricky, take a look at this--
Seems that my receipt says, "Items are in stock, and waiting for you
next to the Golden Coral serving Bourbon Chicken and BBQ ribs. Come
and get them!"
So begins the negotiation phase
"Hey, Ricky
I got an idea! Why don't you just go gather up the wrenches that
compose each of those wrench sets and we will call that even?"
"Ill have to go check on that."
It sounds bad.
He should be back before we have start calving in March.
Just to be extra careful, We go back to the suburban and get the
tent, the water filtration system, sleeping bag and my favorite
pillow. Just to be extra, extra careful, I also pick up a can of
bear spray and the pyro technics flare gun. Jeff will be watching
from the West, and I am sure from his vantage point in the Black
Hills, he will be able to see the pistol flare, or at least hear my
grinding teeth as I attempt to help the store rectify their
problem. If we don't get some relief soon, we will have to walk
across the street and eat an Outback Steak to renew our stamina. The
peanut vending machine looks like it was installed by Cortez during
his pass through the Black Hills, and has not seen the vendor since.
Finally during the third new moon, Ricky shows up and says, 'follow
me' through the double doors into the area marked "Employee's Only"
into the lower sanctums of the ivory tower--which apears to be
inhabited by the slightly higher minion/associates. Here is a very
nice lady that says, "We don't have your seven-wrench sets, and the
sets you ordered are discontinued."
Oh, Great.
My teeth grind slightly and sets off the South Dakota School of Mines
Richter scale at about 4.3. We are pretty certain that it was only
4.3 because that is the threshold where the lights dim slightly, and
at 4.4, alarms sound requiring everyone except Ms Gomer-ette to
evacuate immediately. My finger twitches at the safety on the pyro
pistol and the nice lady continues.
"What we are going to do is substitute this 14 wrench set for the
discontinued 7-wrench sets, If that is OK with you?"
I slowly easy the hammer back on the pyro pistol, and acknowledge
that I need to think about this for about 23 nano seconds before I
can reply. The pain in my right knee cap vaguely reminds me of the
time my wife kicked me under the table and as I look, I see the
Orange flavored SeaBee about to kick me in the left knee as well. I
think he is hinting, "Accept the deal."
The nice lady continues, "First, we will have to sacrifice 12 trees
to make all the receipts correct."
So, we hiked back to the Mail Order Pick Up point, and brought back
our tents, rolled out the sleeping bags, inflated the Therma-rest and
took a nap as the nice Sears lady un-scanned all our undelivered
merchandise, and rescanned the new wrench sets at the old prices. All
this shopping is really starting to tire us out.
What I had originally bought was 7 wrench sets in SAE and MM that
were offered last minute through Sears on-line. The tool prices were
stupid cheap. Wrench sets normally $20 were marked at $4.99; 75%
off. I saw a way that I could build starter tool kits for each of
the 4 little Honda's that I school kids on. Each bike, would have
its own took kit, and each kid would be responsible for some of the
light maintenance. Arriving at Rapid City, the idea began to fall
apart, as the tools were either never pulled, or diverted somewhere
else.
Jerry watched very quietly as I just smiled and kept sending Ricky
back for more answers until they finally `discovered' that they
needed to make something happen that the tent city we had built at
the shipping dock was not going to work for them past 5pm.
Kindness and persistence overcome some mild oversight-- and now I
have the start of some great wrench sets for each of the little
Honda's. The service we received at Sears was really exceptional as
well as amusing--and when they treat you like that, you have to keep
coming back.
We arrive at Jeff's a full hour late, but not to late for my suburban
to burp ~two cups of `collected' oil from a weeping oil cooler line
on his immaculately clean floor. (That story for another time.)
We off load the tires, do show-and-tell about our mis-adventure at
Sears, and laugh uproariously as we describe "Ricky's" attempt
to `sign here', refunds, and substitution. Kindness and polite
language overcome much confusion, etc.
I think it was the phrase, "Ah, no." that really caught their
attention the most.
We install the Harbor Freight tire machine into the floor lugs,
dismount the 3 tires and clean the rims before we bore-sight the
Golden Corral. Might seem like a small thing to you folks that have
restaurants with more than two choices on the menu, but the Bourbon
Chicken, did not have a bar code in sight. I looked twice.
Back at Jeff's we mounted that used Maxxis tire (using 4 tire spoons
and real tire soap) and compared the Maxxis pattern to the K270. We
also mounted up a set of Dunlop 607's on a set of new-to-me spare
wheels that I bought to keep a set of street tires available for
extra-curricular activities.
Finishing that, we talked of KLR electrical upgrades, trouble
shooting, and shared camping experiences until after 1am. 0630
arrived early, way to early, as Jerry had a 0800 show time at the
hospital. Shortly, he would be in `stitches' and I still had a long,
windy drive home.
All said and done, just another day in the life of a the KLR parson
located in the Sioux Empire.
revmaaatin.