Dispatch 09: Blue Springs to Lincoln
Last night, we parked the bikes under Feit Memorial Park’s pavilion. It had lights and electricity, an unusual perk for tent camping. We charged phones, helmet comms, Jerod’s camera batteries, and with the pavilion lights, we inspected Jerod’s front fork. When we rose this morning, there was a small pool of dark oil next to his tire.
I find most problems are best solved with hashbrowns. We rode into Beatrice, Nebraska, and stopped for breakfast at the Country Cookin’ Café, an expansive, subterranean diner under the Nebraska Baseball Hall of Fame. Over easy eggs, hash browns, bacon, and coffee poured from a bronze-colored pot arrived in short order. You may remember that I spoke of eating better yesterday. Well, all’s fair in love and a diner breakfast.
Back to our fork conundrum, Jerod and I decided we needed to consult an expert. With only 85 miles scheduled today, there was plenty of time to hit a motorcycle shop in Lincoln.
To expedite things, we rode Highway 77 straight into town. Vast fields of corn, sorghum, and soybean bordered both sides of the highway. Massive combines roamed the stalks, transforming the plants to grain as trucks waited to haul off each machine’s bounty.
Rod’s Power Sports appeared on our left. Honda’s prominent winged logo was displayed on their sign. We’d just lucked into one of the largest Honda motorcycle dealerships in Nebraska.
Dylan, the shop’s service tech, gave us his prognosis. If the fork continued to lose oil, the damage would be extensive, and it was dangerous to have oil leaking on your brakes and tire. They had the parts to fix it, and Dylan went to work. Thank you, Rod’s Power Sports! Jerod and I set up on the showroom floor to edit photos and write dispatches. A pair of shiny, new Honda Africa Twins sat next to us. It was tempting until I realized both had automatic transmissions.
We snapped a group photo with the dealership staff, and they sent us away on our dirty and very used Africa Twins. We camped northwest of Lincoln along the shore of Branched Oak Lake and stood on a sandy beach as the sun dropped below the horizon. The brilliant orange hues coupled with striated clouds and aircraft contrails transformed the sky into a static portrait of fire.
