Kelly and I were out for a while last night, hitting the back roads of Howard County, Maryland. As usual when we go out on those roads, Kelly was in the lead. That dude a) knows those roads like the back of his hand, b) doesn't ever use his brakes and c) drives like a Formula 1 guy. If you ever have a chance to ride with Kelly, don't pass it up.
Last night, it appeared Kelly wasn't using his brakes at all. He was, but all I saw was the amber of his running lights.
"I thought I fixed that!" he yelled at a stoplight. (Which, I think, is why us East Coast guys carry tools!)
We had gone to my buddy Matt's house to get the Hoopty early in the evening, and didn't have a lick of trouble for almost half an hour. Once we really started taking the curvies, though, I started to notice a light slack developing in the clutch. Like it was dragging a little. About five minutes later, she popped.
The cable's strands had begun to come unravelled from the wing-nut end -- about half the wires in the cable popped out of the threaded rod. Fatigue, I guess.
I opened up the bodywork as Kelly swung the Red Baron around and threw a whole lot of light at the situation; it was pretty obvious I was done for the night.
I turned around and headed back to the garage, Kelly running behind me just in case something else should happen.
Not a big deal. What's funny is limping home in third with Teresa's red flashing tow-lights stuck onto the roll bars because I gave away my spare clutch cable earlier this year.
Auuugh!
So, I called Carey. Two new cables, pre-cut to length, will be heading this way at some point this week. Easy fix, great customer service (it's the weekend) and I'm not out anything but time.
I'm just glad this wasn't in the middle of a road trip or something.
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