RE Sucked at Resaca

To the point that we took a break at the truck stop in Resaca, the ride had been going quite well.  As we were gathering ourselves to press on, an eighteen wheeler pulled up towards our row of now diminutive looking motorcycles reminiscent of the scene from Smokey and the Bandit.  Fortunately the driver just wanted a chat about the bikes before going inside. 

As everybody else fired up their machines my one lung 500cc Royal Enfield spun over with no signs of springing into life.  It sounded pretty sick, like it had lost a significant amount of compression.  Suddenly it fired, and off we rode.  

Within a few miles Bob pulled off the road, and tucking in behind him my RE stalled. I restarted it, but it immediately stalled again.  And so this went on a couple more times before I decided to bid my buddies adieu and head back home.  I had my AAA safety net, and being well within my radius I was not bothered about riding a sick bike alone.  I'd be just fine and there was no need for anybody else to miss out on a great ride because of me.  

I made good time getting back to the 515, but that is where my troubles worsened.  As I was about to merge with the traffic on the 515 my RE stalled again.  Pulling to the side of the merge lane I checked my gas and it looked low, so I assumed it had gone onto reserve, switched it over and it fired up to get on my way again. 

As I approached Jasper, and what I knew to be my fuel supply at Kroger, my RE stalled again. This time at the bottom of the hill leading up to Kroger.  I still had gas in the tank, so it wasn't that, but determined not to have to push 400lb of 1960's engineering uphill I willed it back into life and limped into the Kroger gas station.  

Not being an unattractive motorcycle, with it's old lines and engineering, the RE is easily mistaken for an antique.  More so now that I have replaced the modern dual seat with a replica classic sprung solo seat.  I got a lot of comments and people looking the bike over as I waited for a pump to come free.

The passage of time and resting the motorcycle were not to be of benefit this day as after filling up the tank the RE stubbornly refused to start. There was not even a glimmer of life as the motor spun over, seemingly with no resistance to the starter. I pushed the bike away from the pumps and into a parking stall. 

Out came the tools. It was time for a bit of strip down to see what was going on. 

As I worked the sky was darkening above me and in the distance the faint rumblings of thunder could be heard.  "Great," I thought, "just what I need.", but it was a typical hot and muggy Georgia summer afternoon, so rain to some degree would have been welcome; maybe not so much when I had my bike in pieces though! 

As I worked on the bike I attracted more attention, and in particular a guy who turned out to be the man that saved the day for me.  He had only recently moved to Jasper from Dawsonville, and as luck would have it used to work on British bikes in their hey-day.  He stopped to help me, offering advice as I worked away.