Part Failure

Another late start because I hit the snooze button way too many time. I hit the road and the roads continued to be glorious, the corners were amazing, the bike was handling beautifully and the roads had emptied out since it’s now Monday; I felt like Rossi on vacation. I’d noticed a howl coming from the front end but I chocked it up to tire wear and the chipsealed roads we don’t have at home. I was making great time even though I was stopping and taking pictures. And once again my buddy the gas light came on. I pulled off by one of the most beautiful spots on the BRP, the Linn Cove viaduct. As I searched on my phone for a nearby gas station a beat multicolored 240SX drove by with a fantastically loud exhaust note. I gave him a thumbs up and he returned the gesture. I stood there finishing my cigarette basking in my beautiful surroundings while getting serenaded by the exhaust wail reverberating off the mountains; I had goosebumps.

Linville had the closest gas station, so I headed that way. Another steep descent down a curvy road but the howl from the front wheel was back with a vengeance, now I could feel it in the bars and it’s not just when the bikes leaned over. Fuck, it’s the wheel bearings.

At the gas station I fill up and convinced another rider to push down on the rear of the bike to get the front wheel off the ground so I could check the bearings, I didn’t feel any play but felt it was best to stop by a dealer and have it double checked. I checked google maps and there's a dealer in Asheville, which luckily for me is just off the BRP a little further south. I can’t explain why, but I thought better of it and double checked on the Ducati website. Sure enough the Asheville dealer had closed, and the closest dealer was in Charlotte, which is two hours of backroads out of my way. I decided I’d nurse the bike on backroads to Charlotte and not take the interstate out of precaution. I couldn’t hit the road as hard as I wanted to, but they’re fantastically smooth pavement and nice long highspeed sweepers, I couldn’t help but find myself pushing when I shouldn’t have been; this sucks.

Like most motorcycle shops, it’s closed on Mondays, so I checked into my hotel, a crappy run down Best Western near a amusement park. It’s humid out, alot of people around and the goddamned cicadas are screaming, I wanted to be back in the mountains. As I was getting my bags off the bike I saw my face in the mirror; I need stronger sunscreen. I grabbed some Five Guys for dinner and they made a mistake putting hot sauce and not A1 on my burger, which is now how I order it. I also had a short conversation with the kid who worked there, he was from south of Atlanta, and had just moved to Charlotte. He noticed my accent, and I noticed his, a deep southern drawl but spoken real fast, and this is coming from someone who speaks fast himself. We spoke about the area and traveling, and parted ways when my cheeseburger, fries and Mr Pibb were ready.

I woke up early to get to the dealer as soon as they opened, grabbing a quick shower before heading out. I make my way through Charlotte traffic feeling miserable in the heat and humidity. I pulled into the dealer, Motorcycles of Charlotte, and Christ is that place is huge. The parking lot is full of Ducatis, BMWs and Triumphs, I walked in and it was more of the same. I found my way to the service department and tell the service guy what was going on and they immediately brought the bike inside, all the while the service advisor was praising the ST4s and how he regreted selling his; this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this story.

I got told it’ll be a bit before it gets on the lift and that there’s a waiting area upstairs. On my way I wandered the dealership looking at all the bikes I can’t afford. 3 Ducati Panigale V4’s right after they were released, 3 MV Agustas and at least 2 of every model BMW and Ducati making sure not to get any drool on the bikes, I especially liked the black and gold Ducati Scrambler Cafe. I made it to the waiting area where they had a pool table and all the Cheetos and warm Coke I could consume, shame I wasn’t hungry and don’t like Coke. I find a seat and strike up a conversation with a couple guys waiting on their BMW GSes they had ridden from south texas and just needed oil changes. Another guy, who had Cheetos falling out of his mouth while talking to me, was just having a lock installed on the radio of his BMW K1600B. And finally the guy I talked to the most was having his bike looked over before he left on a trip to Newfoundland. We talked about his bike, a Ducati SuperSport that he tours on, how he liked it and local roads he recommended. We also talked about tires, stories about various trips we’ve gone on and life in general, one of those good salt of the earth guys. After a bit I got a call from the service department and walked over, the left wheel front bearing was on it’s way out and to replace both would be $350. Luckily the bearings are a common issue on Ducatis of the same vintage as mine and the mechanic kept a set in his tool box. I told them to do it and walk outside for a cigarette while making my way over to the adjacent gas station to get a Mountain Dew, the preferred drink of motorcyclists everywhere. A little while on they called again, I was good to go. I thanked everyone there and bought them lunch to thank them getting me in so quickly. Turns out the guy with the SuperSport I had been speaking to for awhile let me sneak in before his appointment so I could get back out there, I tried to find him to thank him, but he was nowhere to be found.

Fresh out of the service bay and ready to go

I made the decision to break my rule of no interstate to get back to where I left off on the BRP, stopping for gas and sunscreen, with the cashier at the gas station saying “awww, bless yer heart”, which is southern for “Damn your dumb” when I mentioned I had been using the wrong SPF. I managed to ride one of the amazing roads I had limped down the day before, and did my best Rossi impression on my way back, reaching the BRP at just about 5:30. The next two hours were simply stunning, words and pictures honestly can’t describe just how beautiful this area is, it simply has to be experienced.

The sun was going down at this point and I saw a sign saying “Mt. Mitchell summit and restaurant”, I can’t say no to a summit so I head on up. That last paragraph I wrote? That times 10. I was speechless at how beautiful the world is, and if you know me, you know I’m not speechless too often. As I was gawking at the view a hiker walked over to me and started asking me about the bike as he had a BMW F650GS. We got to talking and he was a local, and had hiked 12 miles up the mountain that say. He was planning on staying the night on the mountain, but had forgotten he had a friend from switzerland in town, how do you forget that? We talked more about cameras and what not before his wife pulled up, she stepped out and introduced herself, they were a lovely couple who invited me to dinner. I regretfully had to decline and said goodbye. I basked in the golden hour while riding to Asheville for the night; with yet more fast food, Chipotle this time and sat outside to enjoy the view of the mountains. I really need to eat at local places on my trips.

Enter the Dragon

Riding Skyline