Storytime:

I left for Georgia a little over two weeks ago, with the intention of riding down to my parents' house for a night and then continuing on to Rob Reil's House O' Carbs for a generous offer to assist me in rebuilding my top end and steering head, stopping a pesky oil leak and removing what Rob called "guided missile syndrome." After dinner with the folks in NJ (100 miles or so from where I live) and a night's sleep in my old creaky bed, I packed up and headed out.

I got two miles away.I noticed my speed dropping, and questioned the grip of my new and barely tested cruise control (mental state: "hey now")... but I soon noticed that the throttle wasn't responding either (mental state: "what the hell? I just got gas"). I then heard Neptune's top end begin to make a horrible, miserable sound, kind of like an outboard motor trying to chop up a tree (mental state: "oh my god"). It only lasted for two or three seconds, but it was getting louder by the instant, and it was obvious the engine was somehow eating itself (mental state: "OH HOLY S***, NO"). Just at the end of this three seconds, I found the common sense to pull in the clutch. A split-second after grabbed the lever, I heard/felt a thunderous "CRACK" followed by nothing but the whoosh of my tires on the road.I pulled over and just sat there for a second, possibly praying for just one more year with the bike, possibly offering my soul for sale if praying didn't work. I hit the kicker, which hit me right back. There was a steady stream of smoke coming from beneath the starter cover.I was forced to realize, in one evil minute, that:a) I wasn't going to get to enjoy riding down to Georgia,b) I wasn't going to get the experience of being mentored in top end repair and steering maintenance, and most importantly,c) I would never, ever be able to ride my beloved motorcycle again. I didn't know a whole lot about what had happened to my engine, but I knew it would be a case-splitting affair that would have cost much more than I am capable of producing.

My father was in the area, and stopped by to help find someone who would tow a bike on a Sunday. We found a real helpful old dude named "Babe," complete with a toothpick in his teeth and way too much pomade in his hair. We got a cheapo flatbed tow and a little cheering up from a guy who'd seen it all before... not that I was in any mood to be cheered up. We left the bike in my mechanic's garage, assumingly for the last time.After letting Rob know I wouldn't be able to make the trip, I began to wonder what I was going to do. Losing that bike was clearly not an option. I've ranted on this list enough for you all to know how much this bike means to me. So, I began to look for a replacement motor. I checked salvage yards all over the world, Ebay, classifieds, I even called that shady OldKawMan to see what he had. After calling him and hearing him tell me he had a 78 SE motor in great condition with 13k on it, I decided to get a second opinion. So, I called up Rob again. He convinced me not to deal with OldKawMan (I had my reservations about him anyway... I was a little put off by the pictures of his daughter/wife on his business's site, and even more so by the fact that he has a whole section for them). After he told me about his misdealings with him, he asked me, "Why are you looking for a new motor?" After repeating my story about how mine was deceased (deseized?), he thought for a minute and said, "find a way to get it down here. I have a bunch of motors here, and we'll put a good one together for you." I told him I was broke, to which he replied, "I know. We'll have you do some chores around here. Just come on down here and have a good time, and you'll leave with a new engine." To that, I said "You know, I oughta call you more often."

At this point I need to stress my appreciation for my parents, specifically their ability to come to the rescue when their kid needs a little help. They have supported me through thick and thin when I've been in trouble (which happens when you're suddenly unemployed). This unprecedented support is most evident when dealing with this bike. They somehow understand that even though I bought the thing for $600, it's almost as old as I am, and there are many other (better?) bikes to choose from, I cannot survive without it. So much of my energy and attention has been thrown into that bike... and they realize that losing it would ruin a decent-sized chunk of my life. To that end, my father sprung for the trip.The next day I called Rob and said, "I'm in a cheap, shaky, decrepit old Toyota V6 U-Haul with a broken Neptune. I'm on I-95, I just got into Pennsylvania. See you in 14 hours." (I had to admit that I called from a handheld cell phone while driving a four-wheeled vehicle. It's been weighing heavily on my heart. I SWEAR there was no one else on the road at the time. I was just too wired to stop. I'll never be that guy again).