Doing Time In Cookeville

May 30, 2013
Leaving Chattanooga was no easy matter. To get north of the Tennessee River and over Signal Mountain I had to first weave through the bowels of the city itself -- between the tall buildings and busy intersections. Having studied Google Earth before shutting off my computer this morning, I knew once I crossed the river there'd be a short freeway stint before cutting north to "W" Road, a steep and curvy backroad over Signal Mountain. The GPS was "sweatin' it" but managed to get us there.  I looked forward to scaling Signal Mountain and capturing video thereof. But it was not to be.

First, I saw a sign right after turning onto the W road saying, "Road Closed Two Miles Ahead". Second, the slight handlebar wobbling I'd been noticing since starting this morning wasn't my imagination. My front tire was low. 

Insert (July 27, 2013)
W ROAD CLOSED 

After finding a spot to turn around on the slanted hillside and returning to flat ground, I luckily stumbled onto a service station where a check of my front tire pressure revealed 20 PSI. It's supposed to be 36.

In the old days I'd simply add air. Now days you have to pay for air. I stood in line inside the inconvenient convenience store to get a dollar's worth of quarters while my bungee-corded luggage sat unguarded, ripe for the picking by any theft-minded passerby.

I returned to the air pump, quarters in hand. Because the circumference of the brake rotor is so close to the rim, requiring three joints between your wrist and elbow to even check the air pressure, the fittings of gas station air hoses are seldom angled so they fit onto the valve stem. Knowing that, before leaving home I'd purchased an $8 hose extension to keep handy. The downside of attaching the extension, which depresses the air stop in the valve stem, is that air starts escaping immediately and you'd better be quick on the trigger to get more air into the tire than what wants to escape. This little ritual was performed and I tweaked the pressure to just right .... 36 PSI. 

The smooth ride that followed was evidence the wobble was due to low tire pressure. But what now?  Surely, it would happen again. But how soon? Why was I losing air in the first place? Obviously, I had a leak somewhere. I suspected it was very slow and quite possibly from the valve stem.

I knew of and had previously browsed the Chattanooga Harley Shop on the other side of town but was also aware one exists in the town of Cookeville, 90 miles ahead along my route to Kentucky. I decided to ride on, theorizing the leak to be more revealing by the time I got to Cookeville where maybe I'd get a room and check the pressure in the morning to ascertain the severity of the leak.

The underlying mechanical concern tainted my video interests. That, and the dead video battery needing replacement, a procedure that would require dropping out of the tailgating parade up the mountain and risking a stop on the narrow highway shoulder between tight and slanted curves. Missing a capture of the scenic splendor while cresting Signal Mountain was just one more disappointment to add to the morning's growing list of setbacks. I had to remind myself that if this is as bad as it gets, I'm in pretty good shape.

Descending the other side of the mountain, north of the traffic, curves and forest,  I pulled over and replaced the battery just in time to capture the mundane scenery from there to Cookeville.

Straight, mostly flat, and sometimes fast 4-lane stretches of highway put me in Cookeville in early afternoon. Being a university town with 12,000 students might explain the hubbub. That, and Interstate 40 passing through town puts the "jam" in traffic jams. I wouldn't have expected such chaos in a town of 30,000.

I checked into Motel 6, exactly one mile from Boswell Harley Davidson.

May 31, 2013
First thing I did this morning was check the front tire PSI. It had dropped two pounds. The gradual air loss had begun. I called Boswell.

Unbeknownst to me, today (Friday) is kick off for a weekend motorcycle rally in Knoxville, 100 miles east. Every biker from 9 counties is swarming the Harley Shop looking for repairs or service. Though they are extremely busy, the friendly twang-voiced girl on the phone said they'd try and diagnose my problem before the day's end. Bring it on down, she said.

I clutch-squeezed my way through a sea of traffic, stopping at every red light, and was eventually in conversation with a crew-cut, clipboard carrying service manager who listened to my plea for special treatment in that I was just passing through. He summoned the shop gopher.

A long-haired, portly kid, heavy-laden with tattoos and built like an Angus bull, complete with a nose ring and chrome-studded tongue, reported for duty. He was dispatched to the parking lot with a squirt bottle of soapy water for an air-bubble check of my front tire and valve.  Not surprisingly, the test revealed nothing. Further diagnosis was above the kid's pay grade. Together, we returned to the shop.

I observed from behind the employees-only line while the kid reported his non-findings to a young bearded mechanic elbow-deep in the innards of rack-perched Harley. I could see but not hear the mechanic's apathetic response. The kid carried the message back to the service manager who gave the message to me. The good news was they'd try and get me back on the road today. Bad news .... daylight might not be part of the equation. But I was prepared, having signed up for a second night at the motel .... It's a mile away, I hinted, hoping the gopher had a drivers license. Didn't matter. They didn't take the hint. I was on my own.

I stopped for an IHOP breakfast on the walk back. Didn't mind the walk, except for horrendous traffic and limited sidewalks. Some intersections were as wide as airport runways, requiring a near sprint to avoid being run down by signal-launched motorists with little concern for pedestrians.

I put the downtime to good use, working on my blog and videos for most of the day. Later in the day, I called Boswell's to check on their progress and they were happy to report my problem was solved. I could come get my bike. The service manager said he'd give me the details when I arrived. I reminded him I was on foot, a mile away. This time he took pity on me and sent the shop kid who soon rolled up to my motel door.

Belying his appearance, the shop kid is a helpful, congenial young man hoping to rise in the wrench-twisting ranks of Boswell's Boys in Cookeville. Having graduated from Motorcycle Mechanic Institute in Phoenix, Arizona, he's worked at Boswell's for two years.  They let him do a little "wrenching" from time to time, he proudly announced. I wished him luck, thanked him for the ride and went inside to face the financial music.

The bottom line problem is "tubeless tires", which, in recent years, Harley had decided to go to on at least their touring models. They are notorious for air leaks, said the mechanic who suspected and confirmed my leak was due to air escaping around the "bladder", which is what he calls the rubber apparatus inserted to prevent air leakage around the rim and/or through the spoke holes in the rim. The mechanic said he would have replaced the bladder if he had one that fit but didn't. Inasmuch as I'd made it clear I didn't want to be a permanent resident of Cookeville, rather I wanted to get back on the road as soon as possible, he put a tube in the tire, a sure fix of the problem. We all agreed we preferred tubes. 

I rode away in confidence but $125 lighter.


Insert July 27, 2013: The series of setbacks described above also marks the start of a disastrous video problem I discovered a few days ago, which has resulted in no more videos for the blog. It was in Cookeville I adjusted the FPS (Frames Per Second) of the camera in hopes of "slowing" the too fast appearance of the videos. Not only did the adjustment not work, it was set at 240 instead of what I thought was 24 (couldn't see the tiny display well enough). As a result, every video clip taken for the rest of the trip is affected and cannot be edited in my video editing program called "Pinnacle". So ...... shown below is my "last" video.

 

8-Minute Video Leaving Chattanooga

Fellow Burger King Customer in Cookeville

Chattanooga To Cookeville, 90 Miles