Page 1 of 2

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Sat Jan 17, 2009 11:23 pm
by revmaaatin
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.

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2009 7:18 am
by albatrossklr
A most excellent well told tale... albatross enjoying the Sunday morning read... while watching the waves & clouds roll past
--- In DSN_KLR650@yahoogroups.com, "revmaaatin" wrote: > > 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 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. >

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2009 8:11 am
by dooden
Much enjoyed read on a Sunday morning Rev..... Now that the wife has tapped her foot a few times and yelled my name a few more times... you know... FULL Name.... Wiggled my truck nose into the garage last evening to replace a t-stat that was sticking on my in the -17f commute the day before and funny every time I walked past my KLR neatly parked up against the wall the left grip would grab my jacket and not let go, I think it was hinting something to me. Dooden A15 Green Ape
--- In DSN_KLR650@yahoogroups.com, "revmaaatin" wrote: > > 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. >

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2009 9:30 am
by Jud Jones
I dint tink dere was anyting but Lut'rans between Miller and Box Elder.
--- In DSN_KLR650@yahoogroups.com, "revmaaatin" wrote: > > 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. >

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 12:16 pm
by Paul Statham
Jud Very funny . You need to make you living writing comedy skits. I am sure after someone from Hollywood reads this post, your phone will be ringing. I believe that I will see your name on the credits of some sitcom in the near future. All the best with that!!!! I have enjoyed it all and laughed out loud several times Paul ________________________________ From: Jud Jones To: DSN_KLR650@yahoogroups..com Sent: Sunday, January 18, 2009 10:30:53 AM Subject: [DSN_KLR650] Re: Three weeks to change a tire/wheel. I dint tink dere was anyting but Lut'rans between Miller and Box Elder.
--- In DSN_KLR650@yahoogro ups.com, "revmaaatin" wrote: > > 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. > __________________________________________________________________ Get a sneak peak at messages with a handy reading pane with All new Yahoo! Mail: http://ca.promos.yahoo.com/newmail/overview2/ [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 2:29 pm
by klrjohn650
Thanks, Rev, I really enjoyed reading your post. Your prose had me riding along with you and into the Sears store, ready to punch out the touch screen *and* the clerk... BTDT and know exactly what you went through. Alas, they came through, just as they always have done with me, leaving a very satisfied customer. John
--- In DSN_KLR650@yahoogroups.com, "revmaaatin" wrote: > > This afternoon,

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 3:30 pm
by roncriswell@sbcglobal.net
Rev ..... move to Texas ......... just a suggestion. Life is just too hard up there. Criswell
On Jan 17, 2009, at 11:23 PM, revmaaatin wrote: > 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. > > > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 4:15 pm
by Jud Jones
--- In DSN_KLR650@yahoogroups.com, "roncriswell@..." wrote:
> > Rev ..... move to Texas ......... just a suggestion. Life is just too > hard up there. > > Criswell
The Rev has clearly been warped by living on the prairie if he thinks of Rapid City as a place rife with restaurant options.

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 4:17 pm
by Jud Jones
Paul, give the Rev credit where credit is due. It was very funny. The Rev wrote it. The Rev is a funny guy, and writes well. It's all I can do to muster a one-liner.
--- In DSN_KLR650@yahoogroups.com, Paul Statham wrote: > > Jud > Very funny . You need to make you living writing comedy skits. > I am sure after someone from Hollywood reads this post, your phone will be ringing. > I believe that I will see your name on the credits of some sitcom in the near future. > All the best with that!!!! > I have enjoyed it all and laughed out loud several times > Paul > > > > > ________________________________ > From: Jud Jones > To: DSN_KLR650@... > Sent: Sunday, January 18, 2009 10:30:53 AM > Subject: [DSN_KLR650] Re: Three weeks to change a tire/wheel. > > > I dint tink dere was anyting but Lut'rans between Miller and Box Elder. > > --- In DSN_KLR650@yahoogro ups.com, "revmaaatin" wrote: > > > > 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. > > > > > > > __________________________________________________________________ > Get a sneak peak at messages with a handy reading pane with All new Yahoo! Mail: http://ca.promos.yahoo.com/newmail/overview2/ > > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed] >

three weeks to change a tire/wheel.

Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2009 5:56 pm
by Gary
Damn fine story. I enjoyed it.