Today should be Day 9 of the ride; instead, it is Day 7 of sitting.
When Roadrunner Harley said it would take three or four days to get the parts to fix the Ultra, I was less than happy. Yesterday, almost a week later, they called. “Sorry, Boss, we won’t have the parts until Wednesday or Thursday.” You can probably imagine the words that came out of my well-known potty mouth. It appears the regulator and stator had not been shipped.
I called Mrs. Cramer and asked her to book me on the next flight home. I wanted to get the fish smell out of Mr. and Mrs. JAK’s home. As my Dad used to say: “Fish and visitors stink after three days.”
Got on a direct Southwest flight at 1:30 p.m. All the middle seats were left open. Got a can of water, dribbled all over the front of my soon to be tossed T-Shirt. I’ve flown hundreds of times and around the world three or four times. The seat was the hardest and most uncomfortable two hours I’ve ever experienced, even worse than eighteen hours in strap seats in a WWII vintage Navy cargo plane.
It’s good to be home with Mrs. Cramer.
When the bike is ready, I’ll fly back to Phoenix and continue on the ride—much abbreviated.