Uneasy Rider- Pt. 2

Just before Rio Dell there is a long bridge that crosses the Eel River. Rebuilt ran out of gas on the middle of the bridge. My friend walked to be with his motorcycle while I walked to get gas. We call Rio Dell real dull because it was a sleepy little town where nothing ever happened.  The locals take pride in that.  

The entire Rio Dell police department stopped me on my way to the gas station. There were two officers in a patrol car. I regaled them with the recital of the day’s misfortunes and our current situation. 

They were glad because they had found the motorcycle and were keeping an eye on it. They were worried because of the same reasons we were. They also told me that the only gas station in town would close in about ten minutes. There was no way I could walk that far before then.

The Rio Dell police offered me a ride to the gas station. I had to be searched before I could be loaded like a prisoner in the back. I wasn’t hand cuffed, but their rules said that anyone riding in the back was to be considered in custody. I had a small pocketknife in my pocket they had to confiscate before I could ride in their car. 

They got me to the gas station, and I got gas with no problems. The police also gave me a ride back to my truck. This was nice because it was about a two-mile hike back to my truck. The starter in my truck was out, and I knew after running out of gas that I would have to push my truck for a long way before any fuel could reach the carburetor and start. 

I explained my predicament to the cops. They had a push bar on the front of their patrol car. I asked them if they could push me far enough to start my truck. They told me that they could not do this because it was illegal to nerf or push a vehicle with another vehicle. The officers were nice enough to push my truck by hand. I felt bad because even in second gear, it was a very difficult push. Those officers had to push a long way before my truck started.

I went back to the gas station for more gas. They stayed open for me, but I had to pay for a full tank of gas. Now I finally got back to my friend and his motorcycle. We got Scott’s motorcycle loaded up and tied down. He decided that he was going to ride his bike home.

Even if that meant sitting on it while I drove home. We started back to Eureka and were getting back on the freeway when the Rio Dell police pulled me over. I was resentful because if they were going to cite me for something they should have done it already. It turned out that they were returning my pocketknife.    

We made it back to Eureka without further mishap. A highway patrolman got behind me when we reached the city limits. With my friend sitting on his motorcycle, I knew I would be stopped. I made it to Wabash Street and turned right onto it. Wabash is the turn I needed to take to go home. The highway patrolman followed and pulled me over.  

The start of Wabash Street is a steep hill with a forty-percent grade. I pulled over. I left my truck running, put my truck in neutral, and set the emergency brake because my starter was out. I jumped out of my truck to talk with the highway patrolman. He had also got out of his car to talk with me. My truck started rolling backward and hit the highway patrol car. Both vehicles were rolling backward down the hill. 

I dove into my truck to smash the brake with my hand. The highway patrolman did the same. The highway patrolman was the one who got the vehicles stopped. I shut the motor off and put the truck in gear. I went back to talk with the patrolman. My friend Scott remained sitting on his motorcycle the whole time. He did not get off to help me explain things. 

I explained the day’s events to the patrolman. It was a lengthy explanation. He stood silent with his arms folded across his chest slowly shaking his no. With a stern expression he listened to my story, and did not say a word. I figured I was heading for jail. I would be lucky to just get a ticket. 

The highway patrolman let me go. He said that I was to take myself home and stay there. I guess he thought that I had already been punished enough for one day. Now I just had to get my truck started. 

There was no way I could push my truck up the hill. Not even with Scott’s help. Vehicles don’t start very well in reverse. I had no other options, so I put Rebuilt in reverse and let her roll down the hill. I knew that to have any chance at all that I would need to be rolling fast. 

Wabash was a long hill, but not that long. There was only enough room for one try. If I failed, I would have to call a tow truck. Rebuilt was so low geared that when I popped the clutch the tires chirped and she almost stopped, but she started.  

We went home and stayed there. I did not leave the house again until the next day, and I walked everywhere for the next three days. No more motorcycle road trips for me. One road trip was enough to cure me for life.  

End Part Two                                                                                                                                   

By Jess W. Ward

You are welcome to join us.

Our next meeting is Thursday, July 31, 2025, 5:00 PM, at
Natalia’s Coffee and Books
202 North Main Street, Yreka.

For more information about the club, contact Bob Kaster, 530-598-5204, email
[email protected], or Mike Grifantini, 530-710-4882, email [email protected]