The encouraging tale of a roadside repair in Death Valley

"Damn it. (Pause for effect.) Where is he?"

My brother, Kurt, and I were traveling at a high rate of speed through the desert, trying to beat the clock. I was on assignment for Common Tread and we needed to get to a motorcycle dealership before they closed, so we could get a set of Michelin Anakee Adventure tires mounted before the actual press launch the next day. Instead, I'm stopped in the silence and I can't see Kurt in my rearview mirror, or even when I turn and squint at the horizon.

I turn around on my loaded-up Triumph Tiger XCx and blitz back into Death Valley, only to find him 10 miles back on the side of the road on his Ducati Desert Sled.

Me: "What's up?"

Kurt: "My bike is leaking oil!"

Me: "From where?"

Kurt: "I don't know, but just before this, my chain popped off the rear sprocket. I put it back on and started riding, and now there's oil everywhere!"

I know where the oil is coming from without even seeing it. Most of the time when a motorcycle jumps the chain, it wads up the chain between the engine case and the front (countershaft) sprocket. If the force is high enough, it'll "do the engine case in."

We remove the countershaft cover and there it is. A hole about 10 mm by 8 mm in the main engine case staring back at me. I look at my brother and say, "You didn't like this bike, did you?"

Kurt takes a short, tight, half breath that gets cut off by that lump in your throat right before you burst into tears.

See, Kurt doesn't just like his Desert Sled; he loves it. He's put 14,000 miles on it in a year and has ridden across the country three times already. He has every bolt-on farkle and carbon fiber bit you can buy for this bike. Sure, for the money he could have purchased a leftover KTM 1090R or a Triumph Street Triple, but that's not the point. The point is that I told him to buy a Desert Sled because it is (was) the perfect bike for him.

Throw a leg over any Ducati Scrambler, and instantly you're transported to a simpler, more fun-loving frame of mind, but right now I'm trying to figure out how to get Kurt transported to the nearest U-Haul location. We're 100 miles from Pahrump, Nevada, and literally in the middle of nowhere. I've got barely any cell phone service and an important tire launch to be at that I suggested my brother tag along to as my "camera person," since Michelin had an open invite for friends and followers.

Me: "This is not good. I need to be at this tire launch."

Kurt: "I'm screwed, dude. Just go without me."

Me: "Dude, you are screwed. Crap! I have to go. Shit, what are we going to do?"

Kurt: "I'll figure it out. I'll get a ride into town."

I think to myself: I can't leave him out here. How the hell is he going to get this bike into a rental truck by himself in the middle of the desert? What if there aren't any rentals available? This is already taking too long.

I have enough service to get a text out on the third try to the Michelin rep. "We've lost a bike. Cancel the meeting at the dealership."

Kurt: "Just go man, I'll be fine."

Me: "Just let me think. I don't want to leave you out here."

Even if we could find one, a truck rental from Death Valley to Denver (Kurt's home town) would run him about a thousand dollars. The whole reason he's ridden out to California to meet up with me was to have an adventure. Well, he's having one now. I had minimal tools and no JB Weld on me. I think to myself: "Problem — solution. What's the solution? All we have to do is keep the engine oil in this bike until we get to an auto parts store. How do we plug this hole? Hole... Plug..."

Me: "Got any earplugs?"

Kurt (wearing earplugs): "Huh?"

Me: "We'll plug the hole with earplugs."

We went through three sets of earplugs as they fell out of or into the engine case as we rode out of Death Valley, and lost almost a quart of oil along the way. After a quick stop at the local Autozone for JB weld, brake cleaner, latex gloves, and that missing quart of oil, we made it to the Water Rock Ranch just before sundown.

I made a beer can backer plate (Coors Banquet), put three coats of JB Weld on it, and we were back in business for the weekend.

What can you learn from this story? Think “solution" before you give up — and give in to the worst-case scenario.