Mechanical Meltdown

© Alisa Clickenger / RumBum.com

Cars and trucks fired up, engines raced, and vehicles jockeyed for position just like the start of an Indy Car race. I thought it a bit silly since we had all been parked behind a sawhorse blockade at a construction zone, but it was act-like-the-locals-or-get-run-over, and I easily got into the spirit of things. I hastily put my helmet and gloves on, started the motorbike, and prepared to launch. The policeman removed the barrier, and we all took off in a pack at a furious pace.

I ran through the first two gears quickly, passed a truck filled with people and vegetables, and pulled wide to get out of the dust wake of the cars in front of me. It was crazy, it was fun, my spirits were high. And just as I hit my stride in third gear, CLUNK! My mind started to spin faster than my wheels, and I pulled in the clutch at lightening speed. As I began to coast, I and was enveloped in a cloud of diesel exhaust and dust , and my mind went through all the possible scenarios. None of them were very good.

© Alisa Clickenger / RumBum.comLuckily, I did not get run over as I slowly rolled to a stop. The bike stalled and then would not re-start, so I dismounted and pushed it over to the far side of the road. My heart was pounding, my mind was racing. What should I do? I am not technically adept, and while I was in a construction zone, I was still in the middle of the Peruvian jungle. My options were slim.

I put the motorbike on the center stand, and discovered that the chain was broken.  I told myself to calm down, and forced myself to slow down mentally; slow way down, and deal with what I knew how to deal with. I took the panniers off the bike, got out my tools, and removed the chain guards to see the extent of the damage. The good news was that the chain had not flung against the engine casing and ruptured the engine, so theoretically I just had a broken chain to deal with. 

While I'd never made such a repair myself, I did have a small part of chain with me that would connect the two ends of the chain again. The problem was that my hands were not strong enough to remove the broken and twisted link, so I needed help. It was getting dark and I started to panic again, since I did not want to have to camp next to the bike in the middle of a construction zone in the middle of nowhere. I also did not want to leave the motorbike because all my worldly goods were on it.

Salvation came in the form of a survey crew. Surprised at finding a woman stranded with a motorbike, their (thankfully) macho consciences demanded that they help me. It wasn't much help, but it was enough: they picked up my bike, all my luggage an all my gear, and threw it into the back of their truck. Then they piled me into the cab, drove me to the nearest police station, and proceeded to unload me, thereby making me and my problems the problems of the police.

The police were amazingly helpful. They called for a mechanic, who came and serviced my bike on the spot. It turned out that I didn't have the correct part to fix my problem, but that did not stop them. They fabricated one in their shop, came back to the police station, and completed the mechanical repair. Declaring that the area was unsafe,  the police chief insisted that I spend the night with them instead of riding to the nearest town.

As if to prove himself correct, the chief assigned me a police officer for the night, who took me to dinner (and paid), took me to the internet shop (and paid) and when I requested a bottle of water before bed, I even got to ride on the back of the police motorcycle when I was taken to the store. The accommodations were not plush, but I got a bunk with a mosquito net, and a bevy of personal body guards. They even parked my bike inside the front office.

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