May 18— Four days of motorcycles, twisty roads and great weather.
That was the recipe for our recent excursion into Central Missouri (aka the Precious Moments Tour). The Tan-Tar-A Resort in Osage Beach, MO made a great HQ to begin and end our daily rides. Most of the roads throughout Missouri are well maintained and offer some great scenery. And our timing was perfect– we couldn’t have asked for better weather.
As usual, there is always the unexpected to deal with. This trip was no different. Even before we left Tulsa, the Suzuki Bandit that Chris was riding spat out its drain plug. A fortunate stop at a Quik Trip spared him of any serious engine damage, while soiling their parking lot with the Bandit’s last quart of oil. Amazingly a parts store across the street had a plug of the correct size (14mm x 1.25 if you’re curious).
Here’s a 30 second spot we shot at the resort…
Everything went great as we rolled along OK-20 into Missouri and stopped for lunch in Noel. After lunch we blasted off on to Highway 90. The weather was still perfect- sunny, no wind and temps in the mid seventies. Then the parades began.
We didn’t realize it, but Highway 90 must have been the Poker Run capital of Missouri on that particular Friday. Suddenly we found ourselves stuck behind long lines of American-made noisemakers, barely managing to maintain the speed limit. After several frustrating miles we were finally able to weave around them and resume “touring speeds” through the twists and turns of this legendary road.
Turning north at Cassville finally put us into clear airspace, as we headed north for Osage Beach. Upon our arrival at the Tan-Tar-A Resort I was pretty wide-eyed. We passed the golf course, horse stables, turnoff to the long-term estates, swimming pool, another swimming pool.. it just kept going. The rates were comparable to condos in the vicinity (which look like giant apartment complexes to me), but the resort seemed huge and rambled up and around through the woods.
When we checked in we insisted on a room with a clear view of the parking area. It was a needless concern. The security seemed more than adequate. We parked all three bikes in the last parking space and began the trudge up seven flights of stairs to our room. I was wondering if the “parking lot view” we had requested was worth when I walked out on the balcony. Wow! It looked we had been issued the highest room in the whole complex— our door opened out on to the treetops with a beautiful view of resort and Lake of the Ozarks.
Each day we tried to set off in a different direction. Between glancing at maps and a little dead reckoning we tried to get ourselves lost in the middle of Missouri. On average we would ride about 200 miles a day.
One of the most exciting moments occured Saturday morning as we headed east. Earlier my GS had been running pretty half-ass. At one point accelerating uphill became a luxury I rarely experienced. This particular morning I had tweaked on it a bit and thought it might be running a little better. I lead the way as we meandored along one of the many “letter roads” in Missouri. After a few miles the poor acceleration seemed to return. But even worse now. As I struggled to maintain the speed limit, the big BMW seemed to dig in its heels. I didn’t realize just how right I was!
We’re rolling along past long rows of pickups and people walking around with shotguns. The pops of skeet shooters had caught my attention a mile or so back. When I realized it wasn’t my bike making the noise I returned to the task of struggling up hills. Moments later Brad pulls alongside and hollers something about “..rear.. on.. fire..” between the pop-pop of shotguns across the road. Even though I wasn’t quite sure what he said, I instinctively pulled in the clutch lever. The Bimmer immediately slowed as though… as though the brakes were on!
Now I’m beginning to realize what Brad was hollering about. I get parked on the non-existant shoulder, hop off and run around the back of the bike. The acrid smell of brake pad material is now heavily apparant. As I look down at the rear brake rotor I realized that Brad really had screamed, “Your rear brake’s on fire!”
I’m not sure, but I think I tried to blow the fire out. Only problem was my helmet was still on. Fortunately I remembered putting a bottle of water in my top box when we headed out that morning. I fumbled with the latch and dug out the precious half-bottle of agua to extinguish my burning bike. Disaster averted!
Turns out the locknut on the rear brake adjustment rod had loosened. I spent the rest of the morning rear-brake-less until we stopped at a local chopper barn (seriously, it was called Chopper Barn) and I bought some brake fluid and bled the rear system. But that’s an entire story in itself!
The next day we toured north toward the Missouri River. For lunch we made a quick stop at a local grocery store in Booneville for some homemade sandwiches. A local park provided the perfect break. Afterwards we followed the Lewis & Clark Trail back toward our HQ.
The rest of the trip was pretty much uneventful. Not one single fire. Other than that bit of excitement, we definitely plan to do it again.