Remove Before FlightPosted: December 9, 2010
Let me just state for the record: I’m a dumbass.
I’m washing the bikes for the Christmas ride on Saturday. Yes, Mr. Slow’s Samsonite Missile sees a sponge on occasion and it’s usually I’m the one who is holding it. The decorations stick better on clean bikes and mine needs a front tire change and some much needed chain TLC anyway, which has been horribly neglected (at least as far as my own standards on chain maintenance go). I’m kind of half-sabotaging that one, because I really dislike the stock chain, but can’t justify buying one just because I don’t like the way I have to baby the tension. The thing also rusts just by standing next to the bike thinking about water. It’s a piece of crap. I don’t mind, BMW had to go cheap somewhere and consumable parts is where it should be done. It’s cold, I’m freezing my buns off and I decide I’ll help with the evaporation of water by cranking the bikes up.
I walk around my S1000RR and pull the exhaust plug out and crank her up. I continue blowing the water off of Mr. Slow’s Connie with my nifty little motorcycle dryer he bought me for Christmas when I still had my Harley two winters ago. I smell something faint but noticable and wonder who’s bike is the stinker. WTF? This doesn’t smell normal. Then I remember that hubby had complained about the smell of glycol a while ago and I dismissed it. He had that checked out, however they didn’t find any antifreeze leaks. I keep drying his bike, I want to get this done, since my partially wet clothes and feet are really starting to bother me. I’m a moron for coming out here playing with the garden hose in the first place, but you do what you have to do to get that one last bike wash of the season in so you can look good in the upcoming group ride. Vanity is a cruel mistress. I should have said “screw this” we’re ridin’ dirty.When I’m finished, I walk around my bike to shut it off and notice the half-melted plug on the ground and with an overly loud and distressed exclamation of a compound-word describing male offspring fornicating with his female parent, I look into the Pirate’s tailpipe.
Meltdown in the S1000RR’s formerly pristine exhaust. I don’t know what to do, so I leave it running to keep the mess from hardening while the pipe cools and start packing up my junk and take it inside to give myself time to think.The damned thing is perforated. Arrrgh! I guess, it’s best to shut it off and poke around in there to see how bad it is and how I’m going to go about getting the mess out.I could have sworn I pulled that thing out! I must have been distracted or something… I have a habit of forgetting that damn thing! I don’t think I’ll be replacing that since, unless I run a string from the plug to the ignition key with a huge red tag that says: “Remove Before Flight”, I will keep forgetting to pull it, even when I think I haven’t. Apparently my overly active and easily sidetracked brain can’t be bothered with silly little details like this.
Arr! Arr! She be a dumb wench! Arr! Arr!
The lesson learned today (is a rerun since I didn’t get it the first few times): When something seems off, go investigate!!! I never do though, I always think myself out of it. One way or another my initial instinct gets overridden by some strange somewhat related thought that fits the scenario a little and my lackadaisical self goes with it… la dee da dee da, laaa deeee daaaa…
I opted for letting the mess sort itself and didn’t fool with it anymore. After a few stinky rides the Pirate took care of my mess, and it is as if it never happened. Not only is the S1000RR stupid-fast and more intelligent than the common high school grad, it is also self-cleaning.