Murphy and his law

This is becoming an all too familiar sight – the passenger seat of a vehicle housing the rear dimensions large enough to transport my horse. I’m not sure what’s more uncomfortable, the artificial fresh air filling the tow truck cabin or watching all these miles go by with out riding them myself. As Colorado’s landscape evolves from flat lands to textured hills I contemplate my options on what the repairs may cost and how long until we’re back on the road as a team.



Lets rewind this track and talk about this unfortunate turn of events. The past couple hundred miles were telling me the R90’s front end was acting up. It felt like the front brakes were dragging so I loosened them to the point that I actually didn’t have a front brake. It helped but something was still wrong so I checked on the front wheel’s bearings. Naturally, there was some play in the front wheel in relation to the forks which is not good in the slightest.



It’s 252 miles to Aurora, CO where the nearest BMW dealership is so we give it a shot but not without a temporary fix to try and make this last. Grease, I need grease and lots of it. We pull up to a gas station and search their meager automotive isle to no avail. There’s a truck repair shop out back that looks promising so I ask Bruno to inspect and fill all our tires accordingly while I go inquire about my bike’s needs.



This mini airplane hanger houses a tattooed gentleman by the name of Rod who’s working on a rat-rodded CB750. I ask for some grease and he offers to sell me a tube. Three dollars on an I.O.U. gets me out the door and over to my ride with the goal of sliding my front axle out, lathering it and everything inside the hub with grease and putting it all back together. Yea, about that. My assortment of travel tools don’t have the leverage to get the axle nut off so back to my buddy Rod I go.



I bring the bike in and request some tools to facilitate my workflow. Realizing that the kid standing in front of him needed the grease for a bike repair he immediately refuses the payment for the grease and brings me over his set of tools. Bike code for the win.



With the right tools, anything can be done so I get the front wheel off and low and behold, a bent up bearing. Time is of the essence and Aurora should hopefully have our parts so I have at it on the bearing with a small mallet and get it to look usable, lather it and everything else in globs of grease and put everything back together.

We talk bikes for a bit around the brass accented rat rod before calling it a day here. We thank Rod and the other mechanic, Collin, for their help and generosity and head out. Front wheel sounds better but still not right; we’re pushing through none-the-less.

The whole way continues to give me the same symptoms on the R90 so I’m not sure if the grease did anything at all at this point. About 150 miles away Bruno signals to pull over and we coast to a stop on the shoulder of our beloved I70. He inspects his bike while I dismount from mine and discover the beauty that is a blown bearing/hub. The left side housing for the wheel bearing broke from the hub allowing the front wheel to be as free as Andy Defresne, sliding left and right on the front axle. This causes an incredible amount of wear on the brake pads, rotors and even the lip on the left front suspension.



Needless to say, we aren’t going to make it on this thing anywhere for the rest of the day. Enter Joe, the tow truck driver we had to call to get us over to Aurora, 90 miles away. ‘Time has always been man’s mortal enemy’ and we are about to duke it out.