A Tough Day Out Riding

By Bud Wilkinson of RIDE-CT.com

Some days the bike(s) should just be left in the garage. A recent Sunday was one of those days. While Sunday morning is often reserved for rejuvenating worship at the Church of Two Wheels, otherwise known riding amidst nature’s beauty, Sept. 19^th was problematic. For a friend, it was hurtful.

Acquaintances Marty Clebowicz and Marie Wagner of East Hampton rode over to explore the northwest corner and we headed to Litchfield on Route 118. I was aboard the 1969 Triumph T100R Daytona that had been rebuilt back in 2008 and chronicled in “The Republican-American” in a series called “This Old Bike.” The 500cc British antique didn’t get much use last year because of a gas tank that leaked repeatedly. Each time I sent it out to get welded, it came back fixed – only to spring another leak. At season’s end, I decided to have it welded one last time and to have the inside coated with a sealer. I didn’t have it repainted, though, vowing that if it leaked again, I would buy a new tank.

Unfortunately, I haven’t tested the tank much this season because of a balky motor that occasionally lost power. In mid-August, I dropped it off with Triumph expert Jeff Dlugokinski. He got it tuned, replaced the clutch springs and worked on the wiring to make sure the spotty brake light and smoking headlight operated properly. I’d gotten the bike back only a few days earlier and had ridden it maybe 40 miles before taking it out last Sunday. 

On the way to Litchfield, the Triumph died. One second I was rounding a curve, rolling on the throttle at 50 mph, and the next I was coasting to the shoulder. The Prince of Darkness had struck. (That’s an inside joke that British bike owners understand.) The cause was a blown fuse. When I tried to replace it, the replacement fuse blew, too. So did a third fuse, so I turned the bike around, got on and coasted a mile or so downhill to friend’s house. The only sound was the chain rubbing occasionally against the chain guard. Bill Sekulski had just gotten home when I pushed the Triumph into his driveway. He said I could leave it there and would give me a ride home to fetch another bike.

Heading up the Route 118 hill near Route 8 in Harwinton in Bill’s S.U.V., I noticed another friend, T.J. Root, heading downhill on his 2000 BMW R1150GS. At home, I selected my reliable 1994 BMW R100RT, met up again with my other-side-of-the-Connecticut River visitors and we rode to what has become a Sunday morning breakfast altar, Toymaker’s Café in Falls Village. T.J. only beat us by a few minutes having taken more scenic back roads.

After breakfast, we all rode down Route 7 to Kent. T.J. then broke off and headed back up Route 7. It was at Kent Falls that he ran into a slow-moving car that suddenly applied the brakes in front of him. He doesn’t remember much about the crash, but thinks that he got catapulted from his bike. Two broken wrists, a concussion and some other scrapes as well as a severely damaged helmet confirm the theory. “If it weren’t for the helmet, I wouldn’t be here,” T.J. said later.  

Back down in Kent, we heard the siren go off at the Kent Volunteer Fire Department but had no way of knowing that T.J.’s accident was the reason. We eventually headed to our respective homes, where I went searching for a neighbor/friend with a truck and/or trailer to help retrieve the Triumph. Brian Dunbar was a willing victim and we got the bike back to the garage. I then went off to dinner with other friends, forgetting my cell phone in the process. Of course T.J. called with his accident report while I was away, but it was too late to return the call.

It’s now Thursday morning as I write this. T.J. is on the mend, although he may need wrist surgery. He’s gone from being bummed that his riding season was over to cautiously optimistic that he may be back riding by late fall. He did chide me that perhaps I’m a jinx because of an accident another friend had when I was riding with him back in the spring. I responded that technically we weren’t riding together when he went down because he had left the group.

Yesterday, I went and bought a new supply of fuses and some electrical tape. Jeff’s hoping to make a house call soon to help troubleshoot the Triumph’s electrical problem. I really would like to determine if the gas tank’s going to hold and the only way to done that is by riding it.

As The Monkees sang, “Tomorrow’s gonna be another day.” Another Sunday. What could possibly go wrong on the way to “church” this weekend?

(Originally published in “The Republican-American” on Saturday, Sept. 25.)