The next morning I woke thinking about motorcycle chains. I’d forgotten to check the tension. Chains stretch and the cheap OEM chain on the TW is notorious for stretching. I hadn’t noticed anything but I checked and it was loosey goosey. Yikes!
In order to adjust the chain you need two wrenches and the bike needs to be suspended. I rode around until I found a stump and high centered the bike on it’s aftermarket skidplate. This wasn’t quite high enough so I took some palette wood from my firewood trash can and wedged it higher. Surprisingly, that worked. I loosened the rear axle, adjusted the “snails” that tighten the chain, and tightened back up. I can’t believe that worked!
I’m a shitty mechanic and it’s a sign of the TW’s simple design that I accomplished this minor tweak without drama. Heck I did it in sweltering heat while in a mosquito cloud in a forest. I decided the wrenches that I needed for that operation should be on the bike at all times. I stashed them with my other “on board” gear.
Then I rode off, having completely forgotten to lube the chain. Oh well.
A couple hours later (while on the trail!) I remembered I’d forgotten to top off the tank. No worries, I carry a gallon of fuel and a gallon of water. (All hail Rotopax!) I think mosquitoes had shaved 20 points off my IQ by then.
It’s pretty cool to have all that gas and water to spare. It just makes things easier.
The road took a wooden bridge over a small stream. In the middle of the bridge the mosquitoes, still annoying, were reduced. I stopped there to go fishing.
I have this desire to ride my bike to some remote place, catch a fish, cook it, and ride home. Consider it a side quest in life. I’ve not yet accomplished this.
I have a cheap collapsible mini-fishing pole and a pill bottle filled with some minimal survival tackle. The mini-pole has not been a success. With a mini-pole, I catch mini-fish.
I wanted to try a simple baited hook and bobber but that didn’t work out. Every time I went into the woods to find a worm the mosquitoes attacked. So I tried a jig with no bait.
Nothing happened. I was about to give up when a kingfisher flew by. Nature was telling me fish were present. It’s not nature’s fault if I’m too dumb to catch one.
After a lot of work, I hooked a little chub. Actually I’ve got no idea what it was. It could have been a chub or maybe a shiner or who knows what? All I know for sure is that it wasn’t a trout. It was one of those generic fish that’s small by design. A perfectly legit adaptation to small streams but not a species that grows big enough to fill my frying pan. I hacked the little minnow sized fish into bait and jigged with that. Nothing happened. So I tossed the mangled fish in the grass and rode away. I hope the kingfisher found it.
A trail followed the creek so I took the trail. I tried jigging again but no luck.
Another bridge, no luck.
Yet another bridge. This time I scampered all over the bridge to find and stomp one grasshopper. Me versus the grasshopper was a heck of a battle I tell ya! I cast a hook and bobber with a battered dead grasshopper. CHOMP, the grasshopper was gone. WTF?
I was too roasted in the heat for another grasshopper rodeo so I dug into my trail mix and baited the hook with half a raisin. Fruit to catch fish? Does this make sense? No, it’s dumb. But I’d already eaten my beef jerky, the grasshopper had nearly run me ragged, and the mosquitoes made digging for worms insufferable.
The fish didn’t care. They bit at the raisin like it was steak. But they were small. More chubs/shiners/minnows/whatever. Finally I caught a 6” fish, which was probably the biggest thing there. I tried to take a photo but holding the camera and the fish and with the mosquitoes buzzing around it was chaos. The fish slipped out of my hands and it smacked my face in a moment that neither of us enjoyed. I scrambled on my hands and knees, grabbed him, and tossed him into the water. I got a blurry photo of a bearded madman that looks like he’s about to bite the fish Ozzy Osborne style.
Just then another kingfisher flew by. The bird had told me there were fish but it had been talking about kingfisher sized fish. A kingfisher wouldn’t care about something that would fill the pan of the sweating Homo Sapiens gallivanting about the bridge.
It a shame because it looked like prime trout habitat. It’s a very cold location. I formed a theory that the vicinity freezes near to the bottom some (all?) winters. Little chubs and shiners seem better adapted to find unfrozen holes than bigger fish. This stream is for kingfishers and not men.
Oh well, any time you’re fishing it’s a good thing.
That night I was fried and tired. I cooked something nondesript and ate it without thinking. I drank deeply of the still cool things I had in my ice chest.
The only notable thing I cooked over the fire was some charcloth to go with my flint and steel. I tried to get some water to put out the fire but that was a bust. The well’s hand pump just wasn’t working. This meant I had to stay out in the bugs a little longer than I wanted.
Screen tent. I need a screen tent.
It had been hot all day and I slept like a log as soon as it cooled down. During the day one of the RVs had disappeared. Now there were just two of us.
That night I dreamed of air conditioning and screen tents.
(To be continued.)