3:07 p.m. - 2005-08-17
Bald Tires and Screamin Birds
Once we were finally packed up and ready to leave Creation Fest 2005 (yes � finally) we got back on the already hot road to head further east. Our destination a little on the hazy side, but we�d see how far we could get.
One thing I�ve learned about travelling as a couple was that neither one of us really knows when to call it quits for the day. We both tend to push a little farther than is needed, then turn in to raving lunatics. All right, so we all know we�re well past raving. Lunatic is right around the bend!
Our first evening�s stops what probably about an hour later than we should have, but T liking to get as many miles under his seat as possible, and me liking to not complain too much, kept going. I truly believe the Lord led us to where we did stop and stay. The Konkolville Motel (northern Idaho) couldn�t have been more perfect unless it had been free. As it was � it was the cheapest accommodations we had the entire road trip.
We pulled up to the lobby door. I got off. T gave me a look that says �Is THIS where you want to say�. I returned the mental volley with a �What do you think?� kind of stare. Everything was loud and clear and we were staying put.
They had a laundry facility, and a pool, and for dinner you could do �BBQ your own steak� night. Ummmm . . . Ummmm . . . good. We so needed this after our long hot days at Creation.
The following day continued to be hot as we wended our way through Idaho, into Montana and through what felt like the middle of a thunder and lightening storm. Cool and scary at the same time. I was dredging up all the songs we�ve taught the kids on a Sunday morning at Crosswalk (our children�s church). Every old, new, and possibly unwritten hymn I could think of. Singing at the top of my lungs, thankful that the batteries had gone dead in the microphones we had in our helmets to communicate with each other. On the one hand the rain was a nice change from the heat, on the other hand I was wishing I�d paid more attention at church on Sundays.
We pulled into Anaconda, Montana around suppertime. A small sleepy hallow that had had quite a productive cooper mine smelting plant until the 80�s. Since then it was barely a pit stop on the way to Butte, but we were once again too tired and hungry to care to continue.
On the following morning, as we are packing up the bike, T notices that we are in desperate need of a new tire. This was not the land of the motorcycle. This was the land of cowboys, and ATV�s. There was no one that could help us, and the next closest possibility was Butte approximately 20 miles away.
With little choice at our disposal, a few target prayers were sent up, and off we headed.
If anyone tries to tell you that a Harley-Davidson �Screamin� Eagle� tire fits onto a Yamaha FZ1 frame � is lying. Actually, its not a complete lie, but one that ended up costing us an addition 2 hour sit in front of the Honda dealership � in the hot sun � on a boring street � in a city we�d never been too before. In truth the �Screamin� Eagle�tire (who names this stuff?) would have fit, but what someone failed to notice was that the maximum speed you could safely move on a �Screamin� Eagle� tire (I just love saying that name out loud) was 50 miles per hour!
OK, did the same person who named that tire also design it�s travel capacity? They need they�re head examined. Who travels not faster that 50 mph on a motorcycle? Oh, ya � possibly a Harley-Davidson driver! Not us.
Thankfully an insightful mechanic noticed the discrepancy and steered us in the right direction before potentially causing a major accident.
And back on the road we went.
Next stop with much beautiful scenery on the way was Livingston, Montana . . .
