Doing the Loop - Part 6

Well, when we rolled into that Chevron station on a flat tire, it was very soon evident that the Lord had us covered before we arrived.  Inside the gas station were two members of the Black Sheep biker club of which Greg is a member.  Todd and Sam scrambled out of the station where they had been drinking coffee waiting for the rain to pass.  

As we came rolling into the gas station they had observed Greg's flat tire.  Todd immediately started digging into the huge pack strapped on to the back of his Harley Low Rider.  After rummaging around in there for a few minutes, he pulls out a kit.  In it is "Slime" which is a liquid flat fixer and a very small compressor about the size of two bars of soap placed side by side.  I have never seen such a small air compressor in my life.  

I am thinking this is so providential.  What are the chances of finding friends who have the stuff to fix the flat tire in Nenana on a Sunday on Memorial Day weekend?  Not even the Harley Shop in Fairbanks will be open until the next Tuesday.  God is obviously watching over us.

Todd and Sam go right to work on the flat tire.  They try to determine the cause of the leak by examining the tire as much as is possible without a jack.  Nothing is obvious.  There is a piece of rubber missing from the sidewall that looks suspicious, but doesn't seem to penetrate the tire.  I am thinking back to that odd chunk of something that Greg's back tire flung at me just out of Denali Park as we were traveling the construction sections of the highway.  I'll bet that was the culprit.  Nothing is conclusive or obvious. 

So, the first task is to try to get the contents of that bottle of Slime into the tire.  It is thick, viscous, zombie-green stuff and it has to go in the tire through the air nipple.  Todd gets right down on the dirt to screw the little tube from the bottle onto the air nipple and begins to transfer the Slime to the tire by squeezing the daylights out of the bottle.  

It's not a perfect process and a lot leaks out and Todd about wore out from applying all the pressure to the bottle in an awkward position.  We all judge that "enough has gotten in" and replace the Slime bottle with the little air compressor.  We look for a power source for the little air compressor.  

The reason we need the little air compressor even though we are at a gas station is because it is a gas station, not a service station.  They only sell gas, they don't provide services like, air for your tires for example.  So, the little air compressor needs a 12 volt connection, like the kind we used to call "cigarette lighters" in a car.  Now I think they are called "power ports".  Unfortunately motorcycles don't generally come with a power port.  Most bike riders do have a 12 volt lead connection from their batteries for a "trickle charger" which keeps the battery fully charged over the long winter storage period. 

This is my one contribution to the whole fix.  I have a power port connection for my 12 volt connector that I brought along to charge my cell phone while I am riding.  I dig in my trunk for a minute and viola, we are in business.  Todd connects the tiny compressor to the power port and it makes a little buzzing sound.  It takes probably 12 minutes to pump enough air into Greg's flat tire.

While we wait, a long line of Harley Davidson motorcycles thunders by the gas station in Nenana where we are fixing Greg's tire.  There is the bright yellow Ultra Classic with black pinstriping - it's Peppermint Patti and the HOG group.  They all wave at us as they continue their journey on to the next stop, Fairbanks.  

  

The air compressor is disconnected and we all wait anxiously to see if the tire will hold air.  The hole in the tire is now obvious and right in the middle of the tread.  They pour a little water from a bottle on the hole in the tread which has been located by the bright green Slime that has leaked out of it.  Miracle of miracles, it seems to be holding air.  We all are pleased and begin to put everything away which over the course of the fix is quite a bit of stuff.  

We all agree that we should ride together through to Tok "just in case" the tires goes flat again.  We are looking forward to this leg of the trip as it leaves the relatively featureless, flat, straight country we have been riding through and we begin to climb the ridge of hills that form the edge of the basin that Fairbanks is located in.  The highway has curves and elevation changes which most bikers long for.  It is a great ride into Fairbanks, although I am still riding wing to Greg and watching his tire all the way in.  

By the time we get to Fairbanks we are all convinced that the fix is good and we are on our way.  Todd had arranged to meet a friend for lunch in Fairbanks, someone he has been witnessing to for a few years.  We all decide to get lunch which is a little more difficult with four bikers instead of two.  ONE of the group is more opinionated that the other three and all the easy choices do not satisfy.  Someone remembers a little Thai restaurant in downtown that seems to pass muster as a place to go.  

We all thunder up to this little place which is open on Sunday afternoon, downtown on Memorial Day weekend in what looks like an old neighborhood next to some hotels.  I am a little amazed.  

We all noisily walk in with our helmets and leathers.  We take the table in the middle that will seat all of us.  We wait for Todd's friend to show.  We wait.  And wait.  We look at the menus which mean nothing to me.  Someone makes up their mind.  I decide I will have the same thing whatever it is.  We drink all the water on the table and ask for more while we wait.  i am starving by now.  The friend finally fulls up.  We order.  I am asked how "hot" I want my meal, I have to pick a number between 1 and 5, 5 being nuclear hot.  I decide to go with a "2".  

Thai food is mostly like Mexican food.  It is pretty much all the ingredients except assembled differently.  You know, "what is a taco?"  "Well, it's beef or chicken on a tortilla, with lettuce, cheese beans on it."  "Oh, what is a tostada" "Well, it's a tortilla with beef or chicken with cheese and lettuce and beans on it."  Thai is essentially the very same description except with noodles, beef or chicken and bean sprouts or whatever those things were. Everybody's stuff looks pretty much the same.

I am starved.  I begin eating my plate of food right after prayer.  It tastes pretty good.  Oh, the little "kick" starts to kick in.  Glad I only went with a 2, it's getting pretty warm.  I eat more.  It's actually more like a "4" after a few bites.  No, I am pretty sure he mistook my "2" for a "12".  All the water is gone.  I think the skin on the top of my tongue is gone too.  Oh, yes, they will bring us more water.  I hope they do because I pretty much have hot lava in my mouth.

I am in a dilemma, I am still quite hungry and only 1/3 of my meal is consumed.  Do I give up or risk the China Syndrome with a nuclear meltdown? I am hungry, I decide to eat as much as I can until I can't take it anymore.  Fortunately, the pain index on my meal levels out about "15".  I imagine it can't get much hotter than that.  I do feel like I am radio active and glowing with the heat.  I am done.  It sit not saying much as Todd and his friend catch up.  

I wonder how long is it going to take to get to Tok today?  It is already 2 pm and we have a long way to go.  I am anxious to get on the road again.  It would be really rude to insist on leaving our rescuers behind so we wait patiently.  The friend finally decides he has to go.  So, we pay our EPA nuclear clean up bills at the counter and head outside to check and see if the tire is still holding air.

There is a little trickle of Slime in the tread that is fresh.  It is decided that a "plug" is needed to really fix this tire.  Where will we find an auto parts store open on Sunday afternoon on Memorial Day weekend?  Believe it or not, at the end of the block is a NAPA auto parts store, open, on Sunday afternoon, on Memorial Day weekend.  I am amazed.  

The plugs are purchased.  They are inserted into the hole in the tread.  Something seems wrong as usually the plugs are a little more "sticky" than these seem to be.  We pump the tire full of air.  It seems to hold.  We hope that is the last of it.

We must gas up in North Pole in order to make it all the way to Delta Junction on Greg's small gas tank.  So, we leave Fairbanks behind and go to North Pole.  Just about the time we get there, Greg tire shows signs of going flat.  The plug did not hold.  We find another gas station.  They actually have a air compressor which we commandeer for our purposes.  Todd and Sam work on getting a plug to seal for several minutes.  

This must be the only air compressor in North Pole because while we are working on this tire, half a dozen other cars/trailers show up to use the same air we are using.  For those of us standing around watching Todd and Sam work, it is a chance to talk to others.  Greg helps a young man dig the spare tire out from under a stinking pile of gym clothes and shoes in the young man's trunk.  

It is decided that another NAPA store must be found and another kind of plugs be purchased.  Somebody zooms off to find both.  We wait.  I contemplate the nature of this trip.  From the stop, start, stop, start, flow of traffic in Anchorage to the short little hops between gas stations and destinations this trip has been a lesson in the ebb and flow of how motorcycle trips work out.  It's different than driving all together in a car.   There are so many more variables when riding separate bikes together.  You just have to be flexible and patient and eventually you will get there.

The new plugs arrive and are inserted with the same uncertain results.  The tire is aired up and the four of us  head on to Delta Junction our next stop.