From Norfolk, Nebraska... again. Oops! The bike broke down. No telling how many days from home now.

Well, it has happened a second time. This little bike has left me dead in the road.

I left before daylight this morning hoping to ride 400 miles again today making me only one day's ride from home. All was well. Checked the oil. Filled the gas. I had made about thirty miles down the road, just past Wisner, when the bike suddenly died while going 50 mph. I knew that was a problem.

I coasted downhill to a driveway and pulled out of the road. I checked everything over, tried to start it several times, and like that time near Fayetteville, Tennessee, nothing. The last time it was a blown piston, likely due to being low on oil. This time I am sure it has plenty of oil. And gas. It cranks. It just won't start.

This, of course, is one of the great underlying fears of traveling alone by motorcycle. I fear the bike mysteriously dying in some very remote place. That's why I have the Garmin Search and Rescue Insurance just in case. Oh, and Triple A, as a resource.

After I checked the bike over and concluded I didn't know how to fix it. I called Sarah to let her know. While I was on the phone with her, I saw a truck pulling up the driveway. It was Don Ernesti on his way to work in his pick-up truck. I got off the phone and explained my predicament to Don.

He offered to take me back to Wisner where he knew a mechanic. I suggested maybe we could load the bike in the back of his truck so the mechanic could look at it. He said he had a better idea, and returned the 50 yards to his house and hooked up a trailer with loading ramp, just made for this kind of incident. That's him and the trailer in the picture above.

So within ten minutes of the breakdown, the bike was loaded on a trailer, and I was headed to a mechanic.

On the way, Don explained that he drove grain trucks for a living and often worked late, so his being late for work was no problem. Of course, he called in and explained what he was doing.

At the first mechanic, Jerry shook his head and said he didn't think he could work on it. Jerry suggested that we check with Troy who worked on bikes out of his garage at home. He was pretty good with motorcycles. So we headed across town, behind the Lutheran Church, to Troy's house. When Don knocked on the door, I saw a hand pull the curtain aside, but Troy never came to the door. Don suggested that Troy may think we were bill collectors. Troy has been down on his luck lately and was not working.

So Don suggested another mechanic who worked on big trucks. But the lady who ran the office there shook her head, and explained that they couldn't work on motorcycles.

I was surprised at both turn-downs because this engine is as simple as a lawnmower. I figured anybody who could take apart an 18-wheeler could work on something as simple as a lawnmower, but apparently not.

An older man at that shop talked a while to Don, and suggested that the thing to do was to go back to Norfolk and take the bike to the Yamaha dealer. Wow! I didn't know they had one in Norfolk. That's where I spent the night last night.

Don had gone out of his way to get me to town AND to take me to three different places. And he was supposed to be at work. I didn't know how much this Good Samaritan could do, and told him so. I expressed appreciation for what he had done, and said I would figure out how to get to Norfolk. But he said that he could take me there, which was 30 miles away!

At Norfolk, we dropped the bike off at the Yamaha dealer, which was on the edge of town about a mile and a half from the motel I stayed in last night. The service guy said he would get to it as soon as he could and give me a call. Then Don took me back to the motel I had stayed in and let me out.

I thanked Don profusely and gave him cash enough to make it well worth his time. He would have been happy to have helped me with no reward, but I insisted that he take my gift. It was worth it to me! In fact, it was a bargain to have been bailed out so quickly and effectively. I could not have asked for better.

So within an hour or so, I had the bike at a Yamaha dealer - the best possible place to have it fixed, whatever is wrong with it. And I was checked back in at the motel to await the verdict. I was healthy. The bike was getting fixed. How could it have worked out any better?

When I called Sarah again, I said I sure was lucky for being in such an unlucky position.

Which, of course, reminds me of my favorite joke which I have to tell again. It's from Boys Life Magazine in 1955, the best I recall. I can't believe I remember a joke from that long ago, but it's true. It goes like this:

A man was flying in an airplane. Unluckily, the airplane engine died. Luckily, he had a parachute. Unluckily, the parachute did not work. Luckily, there was a hay stack below him. Unluckily, there was a pitchfork in the haystack. Luckily, he missed the pitchfork.

Unluckily, he missed the hay stack.

I think that is a very funny story, and a little like my story:

Unluckily, my bike broke down unexpectedly. Luckily, it died in the driveway of Don Ernesti. Luckily, he had a trailer. Luckily, he was willing to help me get back to Wisner, two miles away. Luckily, he was willing to take me all over town trying to find someone to look at the bike. Luckily, he was even willing to drive me thirty miles away to Norfolk to the Yamaha dealer. Luckily, he was willing to drive me to the motel.

Oh the whole, I consider myself a very lucky guy!

So I went across the street to kill the time and get a good breakfast at Perkins Restaurant. I walked in the door and saw this sign:

Luckily, I arrived at Perkins on FREE PIE DAY. And luckily, they serve free pie after breakfast. I had French Silk Chocolate! Yum.

I don't know what the verdict on the bike will be. I am not expecting an easy fix. But you never know. It could be ready this afternoon. It could be that they have to order parts that will take a few days to come in. It could be it could take a couple of weeks. I will just have to wait and see, and adjust my plans according to what the verdict is. Nothing to do but wait.

As my friend Terry from Pikeville always says, "It was going too easy." Not so easy anymore. But all is well. I will figure out the next step of this adventure when I get the verdict on the bike. Meanwhile, I am in a motel with my feet up watching TV after having a good breakfast and pie, and getting the rest I so desperately needed.

Hey! It's an adventure, isn't it?