I awoke confused.
That I wasn’t on my camp mat. That I wasn’t opening my eyes to the orange glow of the tent. For the first time in nearly three weeks I’d spent the night in a bed. Cozily tucked into a cabin in the wilds of the North. This rustic Alaskan life a close second to the Methow if I ever go into full hermitage.
For now, though, it’s a stopover as we fix Rufio.
Not having the know-how yet to diagnose and repair solo, I’m endlessly appreciative to be surrounded by such talented motorcyclists, mechanics and fixers. With a strong desire to develop the know-how, I pepper them with an endless array of questions.
What are you doing now?
How does that tool work?
What are you seeing that I’m not?
What would a symptom of that be?
I don’t understand, but I want to. Can you explain that again?
Questions are my secret weapon.
I’ve worked in the hotel industry, a submarine, and a magazine publishing house. Fundraised millions for charity, decorated cakes professionally, led tours through dark caverns, and guided rafts down whitewater rivers. I wasn’t qualified for any of these positions, but when you pair curiosity with a verve for learning anything is possible.
Now I aim to add motorcycle mechanic to the resume. Asking, asking, asking. Learning.
Jack and I strip the bike down looking for post drain-plug-shenanigan issues. If we can find damaged parts now it will be easier to replace them quickly.
I hold my breath as we remove the valve cover, pull the cam cap covers off. But it’s shiny. Smooth. Completely undamaged.
The mystery continues.
20 days down. Many to come.
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