RIP DAFT

It all started about a month ago, really... the end of June. I had just gotten back from my trip to Laconia when my bike started to have problems.

It was run of the mill-type shit: I'd be cruising along and all of a sudden the RPMs would just drop out. I'd be doing about 70 mph at 6000 RPM and I'd go down to zero, nothing on the throttle, the needle on the tact wouldn't so much as shudder.

So I'd pull to the side of the road and check everything out. It would turn over hard, and I'd have to wait a while before it'd even start at all. So there I'd be, waiting on the side of the road for my bike to make up it's mind if it was going to start or not. It was dangerous and frustrating.

Over time (the span of about a week) the problem seemed to get worse. Added to the fact that I also dropped the bike in the parking lot after I slipped on a patch of sand while backing it, I really couldn't ride at all. It was enough to make me want to take a hammer to the damn thing and beat it until either it or I was broken.

The last straw, really, came about a week ago, when I was trying to limp the bike home from work, some 50 miles away, when it just died at the halfway point. I had to call for a tow, because the bike simply would not move another inch and when I was told that it'd be at least a two hour wait for the right guy to show up with the right equipment (in all actuality, when the guy did show up, he didn't bring the right shit anyway) I did what any good biker would do, and pushed the bike under the shade of a big tree, fold his jacket up under his ass, lean back against the bike and take a nap.

Once I got the bike to the shop, they said they'd take a good look at it. I described the problem as best I could in my layman language, and they told me they'd get it taken care of. One hundred and forty dollars and an oil change later, I pick up the bike only to have it do the exact same thing to me as it did before. Consider the camel's back to be broken.

So I brought it back that same day and complained that I was being charged for basically nothing. The guy behind the counter shrugged sheepishly and said "well, we ran it all day yesterday, it ran fine..."

"Did you 'run' it, or 'ride' it... there's a difference," I said back to him, still clutching my helmet, drenched in sweat from my kevlar jacket and jeans.

"Ran it," was the response.

So the bike's been sitting in the shop for a week, and I finally get a call on it. They tell me that the bike's currently in pieces, and it's going to need a 1500 dollar part if it ever hopes to see the road ever again.

What the fuck. Seriously. I only owe like 2500 on this goddamn thing. I bought it to SAVE me money, not become a fucking money pit.

I tell him on the phone not to bother with ordering the part. Just put the bike back together and I'll come by and pick it up. For the labor, I owe 600 dollars. All for him riding the bike down the road, tearing it apart, and putting it back together. Six hundred dollars.

The guy I bought it from told me he took exceptional care of it, did all the maintenance himself and it was in great condition, given the mileage. I should've been more dubious of the purchase when I thought I was getting a great deal.

So now the plan is to float the bike back to Maine, trade it in for either a new model (I do have my eye on a BMW K 1200 S....) or something that's certified pre-owned. Either way, I'm dealing with a dealership from now on.

This scar from this burn will never fade.