Paid it forward today

ENMeyer

Well-known member
Patting myself on the back today, and hope you find this as funny as I did:

Drove from Denver to Durango so I can work tomorrow morning down here. Stop to fly fish in Gunnison. Caught the world's smallest brown trout (4") and a Kokanee Salmon. Not bad.

Got over the pass from Silverton and heading into Durango and I missed the turnoff for the camp spot that I had planned to stay. Just a parking lot at the base of a trail system that I'm familiar with. I didn't want to turn around, so I just kept going. I figured that there'd be a National Forest road between here and town.

I finally see a sign for Lower Hermosa campground and trail system. I take the turn, work my way up the road. Road turns to gravel. No campground in site. Road keeps going up. It's pitch black, and 9:15 and I'm not feeling like driving 30 minutes on this dirt road hoping to find a site. I decide to turn around. As I'm looking for a wide spot to turn around, I see a mountain biker walking his bike. Flat rear tire. It's been dark for hours now.

I roll down the window and ask if he needs help. I have a tire pump and bike tool kit, but his tire is shredded. He doesn't even have a flash light. I ask where he lives, and it's a solid 2.5 hour walk from where he's at.

I decide that, IF he's an axe murdered, he sure planned an elaborate scheme to get someone to stop for him, so it's probably a safe bet that I won't get murdered if I give him a ride. We throw the bike in the back of the van and drive him home. I give him one of my good beers and he drinks it down like a starving man eating a bologna sandwich.

Just another day in my random life. My wife says "why do these weird things always happen to you?".
 

Aussie 2002 4x4

Well-known member
Well done ☺ lucky for him ... you weren't an axe murderer - he even accepted a drink from a stranger along with a ride...☺

Probably all okay with a silver van
 
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Shawn182

Well-known member
[pick up passenger]

Passenger: "Aren't you worried that I might be an axe murderer?"

Driver: "Na, I mean what are the chances that TWO axe murders wind up in the same car at the same time..."
 

220629

Well-known member
Great story. Nice that you took the time to help. :thumbup:

... I give him one of my good beers and he drinks it down like a starving man eating a bologna sandwich.

...
I'd give him my good beer too. Good being Yuengling lager. Probably barely good "enough" for some, until you've been pushing a motorcycle down a dirt road with 2 more hours ahead of you.

:cheers: vic
 

ENMeyer

Well-known member
[pick up passenger]

Passenger: "Aren't you worried that I might be an axe murderer?"

Driver: "Na, I mean what are the chances that TWO axe murders wind up in the same car at the same time..."
Driver continues to sharpen his axe as his newfound buddy loads up his mountain bike and axe.

:laughing:
 

ENMeyer

Well-known member
I gave him my last Dale's Pale Ale. Had to suffer through a coors light at the campsite.

And, today, driving through SE Utah, 3 miles from the nearest town, two Navajo guys are standing on the side of the road next to their atv waving an empty gas can. So, pushing my luck, I stop and take the one guy to the gas station up the road.

I'm done doing this good Sam thing for a while.
 

derekhski

Member
ENMeyer, If I ever befall for the need of assistance, I hope your around... I second being a Good Sam is needed more and more today. I swear every time I offer someone aid, they instantly hear "I've got candy in the van"

I stopped to aid an older gentleman cyclist this summer on the side of the road.... He looked frustrated with his bike, and it was a 98 degree day with no shade about. I took him and his bike a couple miles down the road to a local bike shop, where he gladly paid them to fix his flat. He was very thankful of my stopping, and I would not hesitate to do it again.

Years ago one of the forum members pick up a part for me in California and Dropped it off in Portland when they came up for Thanks Giving... good people are simply good people and I'm happy I have meet so many of them in my life.
 

ENMeyer

Well-known member
Sometimes you just take a chance. I'm not picking up hitchhikers, but thought these guys were in a jam. Rescued a guy in a kayak this summer when the wind whipped up on the lake. He was taking on water, no life jacket. We had our boat and got to him in a nick of time. He tried to give us $100!
 

glasseye

Well-known member
Here's a long read, but pretty much on-topic. Published in Cycle Canada, way back when.
In nearly sixty years of travel in more than fifty countries, never have I been better treated than in the USA. Here's a true story to illustrate that.

From: Cycle Canada [cyclecanada@turbopress.net]
Sent: Friday, June 06, 2003 11:19 AM
To: Peter McLennan
Subject: re lucky logger

Peter, I hope to find a place for this soon. Can you have a look at the
edited copy?
Thanks, BR

The Lucky Logger
by Peter McLennan

It wasn¹t my fault, honest. It was near the end of a long day and maybe my
patience was exhausted, but not without reason. The blue VW microbus in
front me had been crawling along, holding down my speed for more than a few
miles, so I decided that the time had come to pass the slowpoke and be on my
way. I was turning about 6,000 in fourth up a long straight as I went by
him, and when I went for fifth gear, it just wasn¹t there.

Now, usually on this old Beemer, the shift into top gear is just a
formality, a last smooth, gentle caress of the gear lever as you change into
cruise mode. Not this time. I couldn¹t change to cruise mode because I
didn¹t have a fifth gear, or any other gear for that matter. Gentle caresses
turned to frantic stabs as I searched in vain with my left foot for
something, anything, that would connect my engine to my rear wheel.

I¹m sure the VW waved as it churned by, leaving me coasting ever more slowly uphill.
It always amazes me, when things go bad, and the machinery fails, how quiet
it is on the roadside. As I stood there, helmet in hand, gazing at my
lifeless motorcycle, I was aware of the distant grind of the VW as it faded
into the Idaho forest, and then velvet- black silence, broken only by the
ticking of the exhaust system as it cooled.

I set about verifying the symptoms. The engine ran fine, the transmission
seemed to shift correctly, but there was no connection between the two.
Nothing I did would produce the characteristic clunk from the drivetrain
that meant the machine was ready to move.

³Gotta be the clutch,² I said aloud to the wilderness. But the clutch-lever
action felt normal. A hands-and-knees inspection of the various links and
actuators underneath the engine revealed nothing awry there either. The
simple, brutal truth was that engine power wasn¹t reaching the rear wheel.
Without it, I was going nowhere.

I remembered passing a place called Island Park, a tiny town near West
Yellowstone a few minutes back down the road, and I recalled seeing a gas
station. At least they would have a phone. I turned the machine around and
began to coast back downhill.

The journey back to the gas station took longer than I thought. There were
several short uphill stretches where I learned enormous respect for the
effortless power of the little engine I took for granted every day. Those
few minutes of effortless cruising on the bike transformed themselves into
endless stretches of podium-grade effort as I struggled back those few
miles. But on balance, I was very lucky. Most of the trip was downhill, and
I reached Island Park, tired but thankful, in an hour or so.

I surveyed the gas station with dismay. A typical Mom and Pop operation, it
was more of a convenience store than a gas station. It had plenty of video
games, magazines, Doritos and Slurpees, but no mechanical shop at all, and
certainly nobody with any knowledge of BMW clutch systems. I was a victim of
modern times.

They did, however, have a payphone, and after a raspberry Slurpee, I went to
work. From a call to a Japanese cycle shop in Idaho Falls about a hundred
miles away, I learned that, yes, it sounded like clutch problems, and yes, a
truck could be dispatched to pick up my machine, and the cost would be about
$20 per hour for the driver, plus fuel and mileage for the vehicle. Both
ways, of course. Parts? Well, the nearest BMW dealers were in Billings,
Montana, or Boise, Idaho, each more than 300 miles away. It¹d be a couple of
days at least for delivery, assuming they had whatever parts I might need. I
did have some tools, but I¹d never even seen a BMW clutch before, much less
replaced one. I could take my chances and take the cheap-ticket tow truck to
Idaho Falls, disassemble things there and order the parts, gambling that I
could somehow get things running again. Or I could pay full-fare and get the
truck to take me and the bike all the way to the bike shop, where success
was guaranteed. As was an empty pocket soon thereafter. That¹s when I
remembered my own understanding of the meaning of the initials BMW. They
stand for ³Bite My Wallet.²

I began to add up the costs. Get the bike to a shop. Pay to have the problem
diagnosed, ship parts in from somewhere, pay for reassembly, motel and
restaurant bills for several days living in a town I didn¹t even want to
visit. A $1,000 bill would be getting off easy, even in U.S. funds. This was
quickly becoming an expensive vacation.

To hell with it. The Slurpee had made me thirsty, so I went inside the store
and bought myself a Pabst Blue Ribbon, lit up a Swisher Sweet and sat down
on the curb next to the bike to think.

³How¹s she runnin¹?² said the scarecrow in the straw hat silhouetted in the
evening sun before me. ³Huh?² I replied, returning from a dreary mental land
of blown travel budgets and missed schedules. ³I used ta¹ ride one a them
myself a few years back. Hadda Harley. Rode it all the way to the
Mississippi one summer.² He was about sixty, I guessed, grizzled grey beard,
plaid shirt and jeans, looked like any of a hundred guys in pickup trucks
I¹d passed in the last few days.

³Well,² I began, ³She¹s not running too well just now. Matter of fact she
and me are stuck here, trying to figure out what to do next.² I wasn¹t
feeling conversational, but the old guy deserved better than my real
feelings at the moment. I briefly outlined the state of the Beemer¹s health.
³Huh,² he said. ³Thought these expensive German jobs never broke.² Then he
disappeared into the store.

It was getting late. I swilled the rest of my beer and was preparing to call
for the pickup truck from Idaho Falls when he reappeared.
³Which way you headed?²

³Tough question.²
I had three current destinations fighting for priority. There was my
original destination, Yellowstone, my current destination (Idaho Falls, the
cycle shop) and my preferred destination (Boise), home of the nearest BMW
dealership. Trouble was, each point was exactly the opposite direction from
the other two. I tried to explain, but I must have seemed a bit confused. I
eventually settled on the sure thing: the dealership in Boise.
³Boise, you say? Weeelll,² he drawled, ³I¹m sorta goin¹ that way myself.²
(Surely he wasn¹t looking for a ride?) ³What¹s that thing weigh?²
³Oh, I dunno‹ about five hundred pounds,² I said, quoting the advertising
copy and not the bike¹s current out-there-for-a-month weight.
³We¹re gonna need some help,² he mumbled, then turned his back and ambled
across the tarmac toward a battered mid-¹60s pickup. A tiny light of hope
flickered deep inside me. This guy¹s going to offer me a ride! I began to
feel better.

Two hours later and a hundred miles closer to Boise, with the bike safely
tied down in back and my insides warmed by a couple of burgers and a coffee,
I knew a lot more about Jim Williams, CB handle ³The Lucky Logger.² He made
his living with this old pickup, cutting firewood for those who had no time
to cut their own, and Jim was on his way to Boise to visit his sister.

As we made our way through the desert night we talked of war and peace, of
travels and friends, politics and women, and a thousand other things until,
four hundred miles from Island Park, Idaho, at about three in the morning,
we pulled up under the welcoming glow of the BMW logo high atop a steel pole
in suburban Boise. Never before or since has that logo looked so good.

The two of us off-loaded the bike somehow, and, after finding a soft bit of
lawn devoid of automatic sprinklers for my sleeping bag, I practically
strong-armed him into accepting some gas money and thanked him for the
hundredth time. We wished each other well, and, as he sat there, elbow
cocked out the driver¹s side window, preparing to leave, I asked him, on a hunch: ³Jim, do you really have a sister here in Boise?²

³Hah,² he laughed, and he drove off into the night.
 

HighPockets

Active member
Thanks Frito, and who is this Peter guy anyway? Enjoyed your story, used to read many such stories in Road Rider magazine. In fact, a review of the R80G/S by Bob Carpenter was my inspiration for purchasing the same. He was a great and interesting writer. Met him in Laguna Beach at the publisher's office some time in the '80s. The problem now is I would like to hole up in the basement where the magazines are stored and reread all of them. Kept every copy of that particular magazine. By the way, I have been riding since 1955, starting with a H-D 125 my dad found in a behind the levee storeroom that had been flooded the previous spring. He rebuilt the Villier's engine and I hand-painted the stamped metal parts. I was the third Lueg boy to don a motorcycle. My mother turned gray headed during that time period. :smilewink:

Gene
 
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Midwestdrifter

Engineer In Residence
I have found that some 90% of human beings are warm and helpful in the right situations. Especially those who have traveled. To be away from your home, even if its just a few miles of dusty road, changes your perspective, even in the short term. To be at the mercy of both empathetic humans, and natures whim alike. Its a strange thing what a bit of hunger, thirst, and uncertainty will do to someones outlook.

On many occasions we have found ourselves in need of the kindness of strangers, and rarely have we been disappointed.
 

IanSch

Member
I had an interesting one at a show ground near Albury in Australia. Just after sunrise I went to the toilet and on the way back saw a car going quite slow and heading for the van. I told the wife to get ready to lock the doors. The driver got out of the car and approached me. It looked as if he was high on drugs. Anyhow, as it turned out he had sleepless night and thought I might be the show ground manager as he needed help. The night before he had swerved to miss a kangaroo and managed to wreck a tyre and damage a second one. When he arrived the second one was flat. I did have the phone number of the manager so rang him for the details of the closest tyre repair facility. He said he would come down and see what needed to be done. He did and took the flat tyre away, got it repaired and brought it back. As it turned out the young guy tried to sleep near the local church but did not have a great night. He was travelling to his new job the night of the incident and luckily we were able to help and get him on his way. As it turned out he was quite a great young guy.
 

MsNomer

Active member
The Wind Rivers were pretty crowded for the 2017 solar eclipse. Thirteen miles in, we had a stellar campsite overlooking a lake that we’d used for five years. It’s quite a steep jaunt down to the lake. A young couple came by, but was about to go on. I went over and told them about our secret spring. He said, "But we’d be too close to you." I said, "If we minded, I wouldn’t have told you about the water."

Turned out he is a professional guide at the Grand Canyon. He directed us to his secret water.

 

OffroadHamster

Well-known member
I gave him my last Dale's Pale Ale. Had to suffer through a coors light at the campsite.

And, today, driving through SE Utah, 3 miles from the nearest town, two Navajo guys are standing on the side of the road next to their atv waving an empty gas can. So, pushing my luck, I stop and take the one guy to the gas station up the road.

I'm done doing this good Sam thing for a while.
I have to question your decision making skills here...I mean...you intentionally brought a coors light along with you???
 

220629

Well-known member
I have to question your decision making skills here...I mean...you intentionally brought a Coors light along with you???
When in Rome...

We had Coors Light when out west. Isn't that a rite of passage when visiting Colorado? We also had some good local micro brews. :drink:

Want to limit gluten?
Coors Light beer isn't officially listed as "gluten free", but it is as low in gluten as some of those claiming to be "gluten free" beer. It makes sense. There's not much gluten in water.

Don't trust me as a gluten expert. I'm just passing on info from some anti-glutenites.

:cheers: vic
 

glasseye

Well-known member
More auto back-patting. I got an email today from a guy who passed me on his motorcycle on Beartooth Pass on my way home from DC a year ago. I nailed him as he passed by and I tracked him down at the next viewpoint and gave him my card.

He lost it, but subsequently found it yesterday and emailed me.

Hello Peter,

Sorry for the delay in reaching out to you. I had lost track of your card in my side cases. You had mentioned emailing you about a picture you took of me on my motorcycle on Beartooth Highway June 4th.

I was on a BMW with a neon yellow helmet

Regards,

Derek


One of the hardest things to get as a motorcyclist is shots of you riding. So I dug around and found the image and sent him a high-res file. It's about 9000 pixels wide, so he can make a big-ass print.

_BPM6380-Pano 1024 px.jpg

He wrote back:
I’m literally speechless.
That picture you took is the only picture I have of that whole trip ~6000 miles of me riding my bike and arguably the greatest place I’ve ever ridden.

You are a very talented photographer.
I am going to blow it up and get a canvas print made for my living room.



Total fun for me to be able to do stuff like that. :rad:
 

HighPockets

Active member
One of my best pictures of me in my boat was taken by a group member from his sailboat as I had circled his boat (being a smart-a$$). My 9 yr. old daughter was leaning over the bow (not dangerously) with the Pensacola bridge in the background. I have taken several pics of kids that I let take the helm of my SkiffAmerica 20 powerboat. I would have an 8 x 10 made and give it the child in a cheap frame. :rolleyes:

Gene
 

ENMeyer

Well-known member
I have to question your decision making skills here...I mean...you intentionally brought a coors light along with you???
Ha!!! Sometimes, you pack in a hurry and grab the nearest can in the garage fridge! I figured that if I ran low on beer, that a Coors Light is better than nothing. Just barely!
 

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