[Photo above by Eric Welch on Unsplash]

Never agree to go out just one more time.  Certainly not when doing something with an element of risk like skiing, motocross, parachuting, etc.  I’ve seen it happen so many times.  The day is going great.  I’ve had a good time.  The equipment is all working, no one is hurt, the conditions have been great.  You get the idea.  When it’s all gone great, know when to quit.

Here’s just one example.  I had what was a particularly large dirt bike for riding in the woods.  Usually in the woods, agility and maneuverability are preferable over raw power.   This is particularly true if you aren’t a real large, heavy guy.  I generally agree with the less is more philosophy, but shortly after moving to Kentucky, a friend had talked me into getting a new, bigger bike for the deep woods there. He kept insisting that it was so thick and steep everywhere that big torque was needed.  He was also a bit physically sturdier and bigger framed than me.  So, I went against my instincts and bought a KTM 300 EXC.  Now this bike is tall, heavy and terribly powerful.  A 300cc two-stroke motor is a monster in tight woods.  It’s really better suited for the desert. To make matters worse, the bike had a major flaw when I first bought it brand new. 

I think I’ve mentioned before that my wife felt sorry for me one day and said, “how much could you get a motorcycle for?”  That was all it took.  I replied with, “about $2,000.”  A few weeks later I was home with a brand new $6,000 racing woods bike. So, that first full weekend I took off for a 3 hour drive out to deep woods in eastern Kentucky.  I rode the bike for a few hours in tight trails, but was going slow to get used to the bike and to break it in.  Then it stalled and wouldn’t re-start… at all.  I kicked and kicked and wore myself out with it.  A couple of other dirt bikers showed up, asked questions and tried to start it as well. They came to the conclusion that the spark plug (on this brand new bike) had fouled out.  There were no convenient shops open in the woods over the weekend. So, I loaded it back in the truck and drove three hours home. 

After getting it home, I got up the next day to wash it off (a lot of mud in eastern Kentucky). My three year old son came out to help daddy.  I wanted to encourage his help, so we let him hold the hose while I was wiping the bike down. Big mistake.  I took my eyes off of him for 2 seconds and he had the hose in the tail pipe and was filling the engine with water.  I thanked him for his time, gave him a hug and took him inside.  I kicked the engine over a few times and turned the bike upside down and a few other ways and thought I’d gotten all the water out of it.

I took it to the shop a little while later and told them about the fouled out spark plug.  They replaced it and then one of the guys kicked it to start it and water shot out of the tail pipe.  They raised a few eyebrows.  A friend came with me and we took it out to a nearby strip pit with plenty of sand and trails and we rode for about an hour.  As we were about to wrap it up, the bike stalled again.  It would not start and we figured out that the spark plug had fouled out again.  We bought a few more plugs (a specialty plug by the way that cost $15 each) and went out to nearby friend’s pastures.  This story repeats itself for about 16 times over a 5 month period.  I started a log to track all the dealer’s attempts to cure it.

A mechanic at the dealership took personal ownership of the issue and committed to resolving it. I offered to let him take it home and ride it until he could solve it.  He took it home for a few days and called and said, “I think I’ve got it.  Come over and let’s ride.” 

I did go over that weekend. We took turns riding his bike and mine (to make sure it wasn’t rider error).  Everything went great for about an hour and a half.  Then my bike stalls while he’s riding it.  The kicking and starting attempts begin.  The bewildered looks by the mechanic were frustrating and satisfying at the same time.  “This shouldn’t happen,” he says.  “Tell me about it,” I reply.

He calls the manufacturer’s home office the next week.  They give advice.  That doesn’t work either.  The mechanic takes it home again.  Finally, a few weeks later, he calls, “I’ve got it fixed.  Let’s ride.”

So, I take a day off work on a Monday.  We drive two hours to an off highway state park in western Kentucky.  The fall weather was fantastic.  The leaves had turned colors and the woods were beautiful. As soon as I kicked the starter over, I could hear the bike was better.  He really did have it right.  “There’s a jet on the bottom of the carburetor that we never mess with because it’s never the problem.”  It was the problem that time.  “When I changed that one, everything was resolved.”  He was right.

I think we rode for 5 hours in the woods that day.  There were great trails and a good mix of terrain.  We did jumps and wheelies and sliding figure eights in the woods and leaves.  I was riding well and the bike was great.  I had taken a turn on his bike and he was on mine toward the end and we had just gotten back to the truck.  We were laughing and rejoicing over how well the bikes had performed and what a great day it had been.

We’d shut down the bikes and were sitting on them and discussing the day and plans for the rest of the day.  “You want to go out one more time?” he asked me.  I hesitated.  I’d learned to be careful about one more time when I was younger.  But, he was enthusiastic and we’d had so much fun.  We didn’t want it to end.  So, I said, “sure, let’s do the short route for half an hour and we’ll load up after that.”

He’s on my bike.  He kicks it over to start up and takes off.  That’s when everything goes wrong. Two stroke motorcycles are notorious about exploding with power in certain ranges of throttle revolutions and gearing.  He’d taken off rather aggressively while we were still in a gravelly area in front of the trails.  The bike exploded with power and I saw the bike start to swerve a bit crazily as he attempted to correct it…too late.  The bike flopped wildly from side to side threw him up and down like a rag doll and slammed him to the ground as it jumped away and fell harshly a few feet out. 

• 

I ran up to Fred quickly.  “Are you ok?”.  I’m imagining broken bones or worse.  He’s completely still…and silent.  I ask again, “are you ok Fred?”  There is still no response.  I’m concerned to move him for fear of making things worse.  I know there’s not going to be any hospital or ambulance reasonably near.  I’m imagining loading the bikes and him by myself and driving him to a hospital.  Then he moans and flinches a little.

I wait and he says, “I’ll be ok, but I don’t want to move just yet.”  I wait some more.  Eventually Fred rolls over and takes his helmet off.  He’s able to get up slowly, but he’s holding his side. 

“Do I need to take you to a hospital?” I asked. 

“No, just take me home.” I let him lean on me and we slowly work him over to the truck.  I load both motorcycles and he notices that my bike is damaged.  “I’ll fix anything on that that’s broken,” he says. 

“I’ll be glad if you don’t end up in a hospital,” was my reply.    

The next day I go by Fred’s work to check on him.  He’s there, but moving slowly.  “No broken bones?” I ask. 

He lifts his shirt to reveal a badly bruised abdomen and rib cage area. He laughs, then winces. “I think I broke several ribs.”  We did go fishing and dirt bike riding again and Fred did heal up.  It was the last big reminder I needed.  Believe me when I say, “always beware of one more time.”

[If you enjoyed this story – First, let me say THANK YOU – then, please hit one of the “share” buttons below to share this story on your social media and help me get the word out about my stories. Also, please signup for the free newsletter on the homepage or via the occasional popup invites.]

The next story in this series is: Tales from Kentucky #3: 15% Chance of Rain

Need some outdoors, wildlife or motorcycle inspired t-shirts or sweatshirts?

Feel free to browse and shop for outdoor themed shirts and mugs on my gifts page at Redbubble!