Raven’s Rides
Raven's Rides Motorcycle Blog

I went on snarfari yesterday. 70 lovely miles and 30 scary ones. Somewhere along the line I picked up a nail, and while I didn’t know that I had a puncture until some while later, I knew that something was up because suddenly I stopped having fun. I put it down to falling blood sugar and tiredness, but it really wasn’t: It was my sixth sense kicking in.

You develop a kind of intuitive knowledge about your bike after a while. There’s a sense of it being off, somehow, of not feeling right. You really do get in tune with the vehicle, and today I learned to listen harder.

In San Andreas, where I aborted the ride (I had planned to continue to Mokelumne City), my GPS unit started to slip and I pulled over to fix it. A friendly cop pulled up alongside me and said that my tire was low. Boy, was it ever–it felt like a sponge.

Details earlier in the day began to make sense. I’d put the side stand down in a couple of places and then felt as though the bike were about to fall. I’d thought it was just the gravel and soft ground I was parking in, but nope–the flattening tire wasn’t supporting the bike as it should, causing instability and a weird sensation of wobbling.

I pulled up at a gas station to add air. I could only guess at the pressure, but it was immediately obvious that the tire was happier. At once I was joined by a local wanderer who helpfully figured that the air machine wasn’t working (it was) and decided to share his opinion of coin-operated air machines (low) and babble on with a long list of places where I could get air for free (too late) and the fact that there used to be three bike dealerships in San Andreas (not useful).

This was the one day I’d not brought my tire pressure gauge along, of course, and I wondered if I’d overinflated. At Valley Springs, I bought a new gauge, which now live in my permanently-attached saddlebags. The pressure was 24 psi–not great, but I’ve ridden with tires that low before and know how the bike handles. I set off on my 30 mile ride home, driving while worried, my back tense and my neck stiff. I took it very, very carefully but it became scarier with every passing mile.

When I got home, the pressure measured in at a ridiculous 15 psi. The bike steered like a herd of cats and precise turning was impossible. Those last seven miles were very long. But I made it, and we pulled out the little nail that had caused all this havoc. Fortunately, the hole is small enough to plug with Fix-a-Flat, and I’m about due for a new rear tire, too.

But for now, my tire is empty.

This post was written for Free-For-All Creativity. Enjoy!

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