- In the beginning
Not a good feeling. Just FYI, the bike had 800+mi when I got it so I suspect the linings are original. I planned on taking it easy but after dealing with all that "pucker factor" I focused on having some fun. Fun it was too, whipping turns and smiling from ear to ear... well it was until I encountered Cottonwood Creek crossing the trail. The creek didn't look to deep and since most of my previous riding experience consisted of desert expanses I figured it couldn't be THAT deep. Could it? Well in fact it was. As we emerged onto the far shore I took pause and while sitting there in awe of the "Hodakability" of my happily idling, little Wombat I noticed the high watermark about 2" from the center of the air filter. Upon seeing that I was quickly brought back to reality when I remembered I still had the stock unsealed bearings in the wheels, Double Yikes! Also, I discovered the exhaust nut was loose too, not having the tool or channel locks to hand I made due with a flathead screw driver and a rock.
Secure in the knowledge I was going to be breaking out the wrenches that night to check for water intrusion, I decided to continue having fun. That call to fun was quickly exchanged for panic and fear when on a rather surprising and sudden decent I discovered wet brakes only work in an on or off fashion. The off only being achievable with Herculean efforts.
Needless to say I'd had enough fun and needed some time to relax. My initial goal was to trail ride to Shasta Dam but I was stopped 1/2 mile from my goal by a corner worker, apparently the local Redding Riders club were hosting the Shasta GP that weekend. My conciliation prize turned out to be just as good in this instance, as it was nice to speak to some local bike guys and get some local knowledge, while watching the race and letting the Wombat cool, of course. After the race my grumbling stomach and the descending sun told me it was time to double back to the trailhead. So with goodbyes said I was off and as luck would have it I was having so much fun that I forgot about the dang creek but just managed to skid to a halt and avoid a swim. Remembering my earlier mistake I carefully decided on a different line this time, unfortunately, it turned out to be just as deep(!) but the Wombat motored through with a victory wheel lift on the adjacent shore. Oh well, not much I could do about the water after the fact, other than try to fly and dry, well that is after tightening the exhaust nut, again! (Apparently, water acts as a loosening agent on that little bugger.) In fact I soon found myself flying a bit too quick a few times and getting some air to boot. On one particular flight my landing was rewarded with a particularly loud "clunk" and "tink" noise, which I later discovered was the lower exhaust bracket breaking off. After a bit of investigating I found that the exhaust hadn't fully settled and that I should have loosened the other two points after tightening the exhaust nut each time. Oh well, some lessons are learned the hard way.
- On the way home. Notice the Brocken exh bracket and gap. Oddly enough the Speedo cable still attached
At that math lesson I decided to pull over and see where I went wrong. I, in fact didn't, however, the inner speedo cable did and was strangely noticeable by the lower end of the speedo cable with nut swaying in the breeze and no inner bit to be seen. With the end secured back on the speedo drive and yet another thing added to the repair list I bee lined for home via the back roads. Noticing that the vibration of the bike made the speedo dance between 18 and 22 mph at speed. On the final stretch, only 5 miles from home I encountered one heck of downpour, it lasted all of 5 minutes but by the time it was done I was soaked to the bone and my face was either numb or still tingling from the drops pelting me at well over the indicated 20ish mph. How come there's no such thing as fat or soft rain when you're riding a motorcycle?
When I did get home, I stopped the engine, closed her petcocks, took a few moments to step back and take a look at my Wombat and despite our adventures for the day and the trials I put her through, I remembered she never fussed or let me down in those 80 miles. Until that moment I realized that I never put much faith in my trusty, albeit small steed, and well that's the one less thing for the list.
