Sometimes fortune smiles at you in a way that makes you feel like everything will be fine. As we finished exploring the ghost town in Molson, the troublesome Yamaha fired up without too much fuss and off we went into the bright and chilly afternoon.
We took backroads eastward for 100 km and joined US Route 395. Yes, the same 395 that continues south into California, where it hugs the Eastern Sierras and becomes one of the most glorious highways in a state full of glorious highways. The section of it going to Spokane was less epic and more cold. To make matters worse, as we approached the city and its traffic lights, the trouble reared its ugly head again. The motorcycle began to lose power and stall as we waited for the green lights.
Alex found a workaround – if he kept on the throttle a little, the engine would keep running. It was kind of pitiful, making all that noise, just to putter slowly from one red light to the next. Persevering, we managed to cross another imaginary line on the map, leaving Washington and entering Idaho before calling it a day. A town with a romantic name Coeur d’Alene would be our home for the night.
Everything must magically resolve itself when you are in such a pleasant location. Coeur d’Alene is a rather charming town that sits right where Lake Coeur d’Alene empties into Spokane River. It seemed in warmer time of the year this would be a prime recreational destination, but now it was cold, foggy and empty. November has that effect on many places.
One of the wishes for this leg of the trip was to explore the backcountry in the mountains of Washington and Idaho. Our GPS had a number of promising turnoffs marked that should lead to awesome dirt roads and with a slight sense of longing we passed one after another. The low temperatures and persistent snow on the ground made us stick to maintained roads. After attempting to get through some snowed in roads in the spring, we had to admit our loaded 250s were not the right tools for that job. Better luck further south, we thought.
The morning came with another round of the nagging question, will the bike start? It did start, but not before Alex ran several circles around the parking lot, laboring to push start it. The good news was we were headed to a large city, Missoula. Perhaps we could get a new battery there.
It was time for scheduled tire and oil changes, and hopes were running high that maybe a little tender loving care was all the troublesome engine required to feel better.
It wasn’t.
Convinced the trouble must be with the battery (what else?), we checked if the local shops had any lithium motorcycle batteries on hand. None did, so not wanting to stoop to using lead acid, we did the next most logical thing. We headed to a house of new friends who lived nearby in the countryside, with a vague plan to make it to Salt Lake City the next day where we would surely find an acceptable new battery and fix these issues once and for all.
Karl and Angie were excited to see riders coming through so late in the season. Few in Montana ride motorcycles in November. It’s generally the time people begin to dust off their snowmobiles. Karl had built a sauna on their property and after freezing to the bones for the last few days, we didn’t hesitate when he offered to get it fired up. It was just what the doctor ordered. Walking back to the house after dark, mellowed out and steaming, wearing just a bathing suit and a towel, dodging goat poop in the shallow carpet of snow, it’s a memory I will cherish forever.
In the morning there was a dusting of fresh snow and a promise of precipitation over one of the passes that separated us from Salt Lake City. We had an 800 km day ahead of us. Alex started with the usual workout to push start the problematic WR250R. I started by marking a well reviewed diner on the map. Priorities.
The road was beautiful, but predictably cold, so cold! Sometimes everything around was covered in snow, sometimes we passed through lower elevations where autumn lingered in the auburn leaves. The higher passes greeted us with snow and sleet. We really were a bit late for enjoying this region on motorcycles.
By the time we reached the outskirts of Salt Lake City it was already dark, but it got warmer, too. The stores were already closed, there was nothing we could do that day, so we picked a hotel close to the interstate and called it a night. To be better prepared for the trip to the parts store, we popped off one of the fairings on the bike to note down the exact model of the battery. Tomorrow everything would be fixed!
The next day we made a beeline to Payson, where Rocky Mountain ATV/MC has their main warehouse. Anyone who’s ever had a motorcycle in the United States is intimately familiar with this amazing retailer. They have almost everything, they ship fast, and they are super friendly if you annoy them with questions. Just as we expected, they had a great selection of lithium batteries in stock and purchasing one was quick and easy. It was straight forward to replace the battery. We connected all the leads back to where they belonged. Alex pressed the start button. The bike struggled and did not start. Again. Again. The sinking sensation in our stomachs grew with each unsuccessful attempt.
We wondered if the brand new battery was fully charged. We swapped the batteries between the bikes, and the one that worked in my bike, refused to work in Alex’s. Well, had we done this simple check back in Vancouver, we would have already figured out what the problem was. As it was, we were sitting in the parking lot of Rocky Mountain, systematically swapping components that could be swapped between the two bikes. It wasn’t the battery, it wasn’t this relay, it wasn’t that relay, it wasn’t a fuse, it wasn’t the ECU…
The sun was getting low and our chances of getting this fixed in the parking lot looked slimmer than a 90s fashion model. We needed a plan B.
