NAILED IN MONTUNA - PART TWO
A Motorcycle Story
by C. C. Crow
Subject: Got Any Air?
Date: 8/07/00 09:54:40 PM Pacific Daylight Time
From: Killerkrow
To: rooti@square.nut
So, in our last episode, I had just describing finding a big fat 12D
(3") galvanized (nothing but the best for my motorcycle!) box nail
shoved through the bottom tread and out the side wall of my tire at 7:30
p.m. at the eastern edge of Glacier National Park. Basically, I'm
screwed. My nice camp out at Two Medicines Lake is scraped. My day
chasing trains over Marias Pass is doomed. And a whole bunch of other
fun stuff has turned to crap. What are my options here, in East Glacier,
Montana? You know way back when everyone thought the earth was flat?
Well, I'm over that edge here. The guys from the lodge suggest there's
not much hope in town. The lodge maintenance garage might have
compressed air. Best bet is to go to Browning, twelve miles east. I
decide to walk back down to the gas station at the edge of town, check
them out. There's nothing there. Not even mandatory convenience store,
just credit card slots. I ask the guys at the Volunteer Fire Department
and they confirm the facts. There's nothing left in town. The general
store reconfirms this. Something about the winters being hard on
compressors. Best bet is Browning in the morning. So, where do I camp?
There's a mountaineer's hut beside the Mexican cafe, $10 to share a
tiny bunk cabin, but they are full up. I learn there's a campground way
over and down and then another two short blocks east and two more south,
by the school. I walk down and check it out. Ten bucks a night, grassy,
picnic tables- that'll do fine.
I walk back to get my bike. The tire is half low. Good enough to ride
slowly over to the camp.
The wind is blowing like heck. But a fence and some low trees blocks
it. I shouldn't have but I put the bike up on the center stand on a
gravely spot in the grass. It's sort of teetering but I'm aware of it
and think I can manage it. Taking one saddle bag of and then the other,
a little too much tug and over she goes. Great Clint, just great. The
day is just perfect now, I shout at myself. You idiot. I quickly pull
the rest of the crap off racing against the spilling gas and leaking
cold water from the cooler. With the stuff out of the way next is the
clean and jerk, you have to oof the four hundred pound bike back up on
her feet, hopefully without pulling my back out. The winds howling
harder now. I realize how tired I am. But at least I'm not really way
out in the middle of no where. Just close. I sip (okay, gulp) a rum and
coke as I put the tent up in the waning light. One good thing happens, a
freight train rumbles across the steel trestle just across the way. So
there is some entertainment In this one horse town.
In the morning I drive the bike back over across the street and park
it in front of an abandoned gas station. Thump. thump, thump. I probably
shouldn't have for several reasons. Like the tire was now completely
flat despite my attempts to re-inflate it with my tiny hand pump. And it
is in full view in this location, both good and bad I suppose. And I
didn't have the owner's permission. I figured the place was practically
abandoned, maybe some junk was stored in it but that was about it. There
were no signs of much activity. A dusty sun bleached upholstered chair
sat to one side with a plastic milk bottle crate foot stool was about
it. The draw was the flat concrete and the availability of certain
ramping items like small wood planks in order to prop the bike up so I
could remove the rear tire and leave it suspended without the fear of it
easily tailing over. So this was the place.
With the tire in hand I rolled it across the street and down towards
the eastern edge of town thumbing at the few cars going towards
Browning. Certainly one would give a poor lowly biker a lift towards
salvation. Not the first, second or third fancy SUV. Nor the motor home
with Max and Irene. A couple more camper types with too full loads. The
opportunities weren't too plentiful. Had I made a mistake in assuming
that it would be easy, taking my time rather then hurrying this morning
to catch the morning work crowd. Crowd? There's no rush hour in East
Glacier.
A small car stops. Funny, I though my best chance was going to be a
local in a pickup on a quick chore to Browning. Instead it was a lawyer
breaking his rule against picking up hitchhikers (I have the same rule
myself) but he thought I looked woeful enough to trust. He hadn't even
noticed the motorcycle tire. He didn't know the tire place I was
describing but correctly interpreted the directions I was dyslexing and
he took me right too Murray's Tire Center. With a great thanks he rushed
off to a court date in Great Falls he was already late to.
Inside I was greeted by an honestly cheery native American. Browning
is in the center of the Black Foot Indian reservation. I showed him my
tire and he only shook his head, saying no way could they repair it. Not
even a temporary patch which was my weakest hope to at least get me to
the nearest bike shop. The liability was just too great. (They'd be
hearing from the guy who'd just dropped me off.) Maybe I could ask at
the body shop. They might do it.
So I walked a few blocks over to the body shop and I asked but they
too refused, and suggested I try the tire shop. I was really screwed
now. The tire wouldn't even inflate with the compressed air now. The
nearest bike shop was Kilispell, 100 miles to the west. Or maybe Great
Falls. It was going to be a long day. Or should I say days?
So, first thing is to line a new tire up. My ace in the hole was that
my brother Phil and his wife were out visiting from the east. And they
were on their way to meet me Tuesday noon in West Glacier Park. If I
couldn't find one nearby perhaps they could on their way, in Seattle or
Spokane.
I called the bike shop in Kalispell, Penco, a Yamaha dealer. There
are no BMW shops, except tar a good one in Missoula that I have actually
bought several tires from, conveniently, on road trips. I was pretty
happy with the Dunlop 491, the second or third one I'd run on. A balance
of good handling with good mileage. The good news was Penco actually
showed one on the computer list however they couldn't find it. They
"turned the place upside down" looking for it. But they had a IRC brand
that would fit. IRC? I'd never heard of it, but in a pinch, yeah, I
think I was in such, it would have to do, unless my brother could happen
upon a Dunlop. I had them set the IRC aside and I told them I would see
them in the morning. Somehow.
After the phone calls I set out to return to my camp. As the first
few cars whizzed by it dawned upon me that Kalispell wasn't really all
that far away. Just in the distance was the train bridge that I had
stopped by to take photos of a freight twisting up the hill the day
before. Amtrak passed this way each day! I'd always wanted to take a
train ride over Marias Pass! Here was my chance. A golden opportunity.
What a great idea. A local walked over to me and inquired about my tire.
Indeed, it was a conversation piece. They especially liked seeing the
big giant nail. Yep, they all agreed, that was a nasty one. And I sure
wasn't in the best place for that to happen. I asked about the train and
sure enough it passed right over there each day but you must catch it in
East Glacier. I guess it's the summer location and Browning is the
winter stop, or maybe a flag stop. I was excited now. This adventure was
going to be fun despite it's ugliness.
Next time, we go for a train ride.
Next Part - Three
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The Next Nail
