RetroTours Newsletter May 2024 : Range Anxiety
My wife Lynn habitually refuels her car whenever it gets below ½ tank, but definitely before it gets to ¼ tank. I, on the other hand, prefer to run the tank as low as possible so when I fill up, I get the maximum amount of fuel per pit stop as possible. This results in less fuel stops which seems more efficient. Some riders hate to hit reserve, especially, understandably, when they are riding an unfamiliar bike. You never know how far reserve will get you. The only way to know for sure is to run it until it dies. Have you ever tried to extend your range when you are deep into reserve, not knowing where the next gas station is? You keep your speed down around 30-40 mph and tuck in ‘under the paint’ to reduce wind resistance. Your phone says there is a gas station within 14 miles. Will you make it? Probably, but will the gas station be open? More than once, Siri has sent a rider out of their way to coast into a gas station on fumes, only to find that it went out of business a year ago. Siri is not, aŌer all, all knowing.
A pilot and his wife came on a RetroTour one year. At the end of a day-long ride, I was hoping to get to our B&B before 8 o’clock, since I knew the only nearby restaurant would close at 8. The pilot hit reserve and let me know when we were 15 miles out. Knowing the reserve range of the bike he was on, I felt confident that we could delay re-fueling unƟl the morning, thereby allowing us to reach the restaurant before closing time. But Range Anxiety set in. The pilot was having none of it, and he stopped for gas, forcing the rest of us to U-turn and refuel as well. As he put it: “The only time you can have too much fuel in an airplane is when you are on fire.” From a pilot’s perspective, this does make perfect sense. We had pizza delivered.
Fred was riding the bike with the shortest range as we meandered through Delaware soy bean country. He went onto reserve and let me know. When a bike runs out, which happens occasionally--maybe due in part to my lack of planning skills--the usual remedy is to drink a bottle of water (I bring bottled water on every tour) then pull off an accessible fuel hose from a bike with a long fuel range. An ounce of gasoline is used to rinse the bottle which is then used to transfer fuel to the dry tank. It had been a long, hot day. Range Anxiety began to infect Fred as he contemplated running out of fuel while the rest of us motored off towards the horizon, leaving him hopelessly stranded in a soy bean field. Finally, overcome with Range Anxiety, Fred simply pulled over, forcing the rest of us to circle back. I was thinking of getting out a water bottle when Fred announced that he was not out of gas, but damned if he was going to just keep riding unƟl that happened. I told Fred that there was a gas stop about 3 miles ahead and that he would definitely make it. This was a bit of a fib since I wasn’t really sure he would make it. Bottom line: he did.
Once, when dirt bike riding, I was too low on gas to make it back to my truck when I came across another rider’s empty pick-up which had a gas can in the bed. I ‘stole’ a gallon of his fuel and left a $5 bill. I don’t think he would have minded; I would gladly have done the same for him. Even though I have never had to spend the night sleeping on the ground next to my out of gas motorcycle, I have felt the pang of Range Anxiety. It works it way from the brain to the stomach, creating an empty, light headed feeling of impending doom.
Doug and I were on the Trans-America Trail in Wyoming, very much in the middle of nowhere. My XR650R was running low: really low. Even Doug’s KLR650 with its cavernous fuel tank was on reserve and we had no idea how far the next fuel stop would be. We pulled out all the stops: Doug went first, and I tailgated him to reduce wind resistance. The engines was shut off for down-hill sections so we could coast. We kept our speed to a fuel efficient 25 mph and soldiered on. My Acerbis tank had very deep sides and only one petcock with no cross over hose, so when the bike kicked and ran out, I was able to lean it way, way over and get some more precious petrol to slosh over to the petcock. I had done this several times when the trail intersected a roadway, and we took to the asphalt in search of fuel. Every time the bike started to run out, I jumped up and down on the footpegs to get a bit more gas to slosh over and we continued this way for several miles until I ran out altogether at the top of a long downhill stretch. I coasted for nearly a mile and right up to a pump at a station at the bottom of the mountain. Yes, I have felt the pang of Range Anxiety.
RIDE A PIECE OF THE PAST
ON THE
PATH LESS TAKEN!
Sometimes we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere.
Sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, we find ourselves.
