the bent nail club

[Martin Earl]

List, I have a tribute to Ron Criswell, which I composed in Oct as a way of remembering a special day here in the Black Hills of South Dakota.Ross Lindberg alluded to this incident in his Criswell Tribute Part 3, and Criz made a T-Shirt that poked fun of our day, titled, "The Bent Nail Motorcycle Club" which by the way, is a club you try not to join. Like all tales, truth is no defense, embellishment is encouraged, and as far as I know, it is completely factual, pertaining to the parties involved. At the end, there is a Criz rebuttal. shrug.As Mike Rowe say, "That is the way I heard it." which of course, having read it on the internet, makes it true. Parties involved were the rev, Paul Streeter, Ross Lindberg, Jud Jones and the Criz. Now, I must admit, my stellar, power of recollection was slightly compromised the day of this composition as I had just spent 5 days in hospital getting another stint installed. Or did I compose this prior to going to hospital. shrug. It was one or the other...and I composed it to help Ron through his continuing agony of his cancer tribulations. If you have access to Face Book, you can look at my Martin Earl FB page, (it has a Tiger picture) and see the art work. Forgive me if I have previously posted the short story below at DSN KLR650. I simply don't recall. shrug. Enjoy. 14 Oct 2018 (Posted to Face Book) THE BENT NAIL MOTORCYCLE CLUB The incident is now rendered into a T-shirt. You know, been there, done that, got the T-shirt? This is a club you try hard not to join.

The back story: Ron and I, with about 3 others were riding National Forest Trails and gravel roads (in the Black Hills of SD) when Ron's bike started handling like it had a flat, well, because the rear tire WAS flat. cough. yeah, flat for several miles.

Did I mention it was hot. 105F in the shade.

As luck would have it, it is one of the few locations in the Black Hills without a tree anywhere nearby to provide shade during a roadside repair. Moments prior to Ron's re-joining us, [and Ross finally catching Ron] We had stopped at a road intersection that also intersected the 108.8 mile Mickelson (non-motorized) Trail just North of Hill City, SD, to regroup, look at the map and get a drink of water, when Ron arrives complaining his bike handles badly.

Well, you have a flat, and your timing is horrible. With my little eye, I spied a lone pine tree, some 100+ yards down the intersecting, non-motorized trail. With a team of 4, I believe they commenced to pushing Ron's KLR650 dual sport bike down the trail to the shade offered by a single tree. Should you wonder what I was doing, I was given the task, cough, authorized to carry a verbal message to the repair site.

OK Ron, get out your tools. Tools? I don't carry tools. Well, get out your tubes. sigh.

So back to the trail intersection where we had parked the other 4 motorbikes, I go get my tool kit, tube, and electric tire pump and we commence the process of removing the rear wheel and changing the tube. Within moments, we were all drenched with sweat, and I was still trying to read the verbal message I had in my pocket. Reading a verbal message can be really hard work. cough. Especially when it is still in your pocket.

In just a matter of minutes, I believe there were 4 or 5 slightly balding (some more than others), thick-waisted, heavily perspiring MEN having a conversation with a transitory, truant flat tire. It was our good fortune that it was only flat on one side.

At this point, as I recall, I believe most of us had stripped down to our riding pants and boots = shirtless (almost criminal to observe) and sweating profusely. So we set up to work in shifts of 4m11sec before the working 'mechanic' was completely blinded by his own sweat, which left the other 4 the opportunity to offer 'advice' and snarky remarks about what bra size the mechanic should be wearing, yet, I digress.

The tire is finally removed and passed to Ron, who at this point is amazed at all the 'help' he has received and all he has had to do, up to this point, was 'watch' and stay out of the way. As a side note, I think we all felt sorry for him as he had curly hair and was the senior 'pilgrim' at the age of 66+/-. In unison, we all turned to Ron, since it was HIS bike, he was awarded the Royal Order of the Tire IRON, = passed the tire irons to him, to commence the removal of the tire from the wheel, and of course, more (free) snarky advice.

Did I mention it was 105F. (but it was a dry heat. cough)

I think it actually took 3 three people to get the tire opened up to remove the tube, which included me, since I was done reading the verbal message I had in my pocket. Or, was it because I was done eating the granola bar that I ended up on the end of a tire iron?

At this point, I am pretty sure I had taken last place on the bra-cup-size comparison, which meant I was destined to be on the committee for prying the tire off the wheel. Ron, the graphic artist who would never scrimp on motorbike tires (I should add, a tire installed in a shop with a tie machine), his bike was 'wearing' one of the most difficult to change rear tires (of course, installed by some guy in Texas named Murphy) but fortunately it is hot and we are sweating profusely which made it more 'fun.' Like, an adventure that is more fun to read about than experience. Yes Virginia, it is times like this that you discover the difference between adventure and adversity is attitude, and the attitude was good!

With one side of the tire open, it is time to remove the tube, so like all good friends should do, four of us retreated from the tire and left it with Ron to pluck the tube-parts from inside the tire.

Parts you say? Virginia, You thought a tube was one piece?

No. Not when Murphy (remember, he came for Texas) is involved.

A nail had penetrated the tire and the 7+ miles that Ron had ridden after penetration, shredded the tube. Similar to coleslaw, except it is butyl rubber. I think we quit counting at 30 pieces removed, and it was probably close to 50 bits of tube that come out of that carcass. From the 'deep shade' of the lone pine tree, the committee of 4 agreed tube-picking was a task befitting a 65+senior citizen with curly hair.

The spare tube was installed, the tire installed on the rim and the wheel installed on the bike without further incident. Not done at NASCAR speed, but it gave us a great deal of satisfaction that we could change a tire in less time that it would take to have a rescue vehicle extract us from our trail-side-adventure, and the participants have some great memories, and the tire-changing-winners all got a fabulous T-Shirt by an adventuresome senior citizen.

I am pretty sure Ron still owes me for a tube; or at least, that is how I remember it. wink.

Rebuttal: 14 Oct 2017

Got a good laugh from this somewhat true story. Changing a tire on a motor bike is a miserable exercise especially at 105 DEE GRREEEESSS. My good Reverend does forget I did have tools including a compressor but Paul elected to use his compressor as he had taken it out of the foo foo box with foo foo packaging. Jud failed to bring up the fact that I made a new form of high tech cement on the White Rim Trail in Utah once by leaving Oreo cookies, WD-40, and water in my spare carry box loose to bounce around in said box for about 100 miles of rocky road riding to really mix the ingredients where as loose wrenches in the box to glue themselves together for eternity.

End of Tribute.

blessing-

revmaaatin.