God hates me.

Opened the door this morning to get some of that complimentary continenal breakfast so ubiquitous amongst the hotels scattered by the exit ramps across the country to find a loose chain hanging from the sprocket.

Craap.

Now, I ordered a replacement chain before I left, but RK sent me a 520, when what I needed was a 530. I sent it back, but didn't get the replacement before I had to leave for this trip. The tensionsers were almost out to lock, but I figgered the chain had another 3,000 miles in it. What could I do? I had been anticipating this trip for years. Had to hit the road.

Now, this morning in the parking lot up in Roanoke, the chain was loose, but the sprocket was still good, so I put the wheel out to maximum, loaded up the duffle bag, and off I went.

After lunch in Rogersville, TN, another look at the driving gear, reveals the chain hanging much looser chipping teeth off the vortex sprocket.

Decision time. Roll in through Knoxville, or chance it down to deals gap.

Despite the impending damage, the bike is running fine up at highway speeds. If I roll through Knoxville, I could get on the 75, and probably put on some miles on the 75 through Georgia, but then I'd miss Deal's Gap.

Deal's Gap is an international motorcycle destination, and there's a good chance I'll be able to find someone around there with a chain breaker/riveter to take a few links out and tighten this slopping licorice stick up.

Got off at rte. 338 to heading south to the great smokey mountains. Pulled over at a tourist center (actually a front to lure unsuspecting tourists in for a time share presentation) in Kodak, TN, and spoke with the girls at the counter. All the motorcycle shops are closed today and tomorrow, so the soonest I'll be able to get the bike fixed is on Tuesday. After much deliberation and consideration, I decide I'll try to hit the road, and put some miles on. About 5 miles down the road, the chain jumps the sprocket. Speedo at 10 mph, riding the shoulder I made it back to a hotel in Kodak. Survey the terrain, it's pretty bleak. 3 hotels, 3 gas stationjs, a Kristal burger, Subway sandwich shop, Flapjack Cabin, crappy chain Barbecue and a fireworks superstore. Not even a bar.

So I ask the girl at the counter in the hotel where there's something to do. She says Pigeon Forge, 15 miles up the road. Pigeon Forge is the home of Dollywood and I saw a brochoure in the hotel for a cheesey Elvis impersonator, so I figured I'd try to make it up there.

I barely made it up the first hill, chain sliding around a stripped sprocket when a couple cops pull up.

"Having some trouble with your motorbike?"

"Yeah, the chain's loose and the sprockets stripped. I'm trying to make it down to Pigeon Forge. Is it the rest of the way straight, or is it hilly like this?"

" Oh, it's pretty hilly. You gunna need a tow truck for this?"

"Naw, I'll just ride down the hill back to the hotel."

"What hotel?"

"There were three hotels about 1/2 a mile back. I'm gonna stay there."

" You sure you don't need a tow truck?"

"Yes. Thanks for the offer though."

"Alright well, y'all have a good night."

"Yeah, you too."

Head on back to the hotel and check in. Call up Papa Biker and have him overnight my chain breaker, some sockets and wrenches, and a couple spare sprockets. Order a replacement master link and extra piece needed for the chain breaker from Rebel Sprockets.

Back in the room with a 12-pack of Miller and a bag of Pork rinds. I fucking hate pork rinds, but this is the South, and I'm gonna be here for a couple days, so what the hell.

God hates me.