Walter

Any Which Way But Loose

We were somewhere in Quebec's Laurentian townships, traveling south towards Montreal when Walter's Bonneville quietly came to a halt. The bike was now a chopper, having been transformed during my earlier brief ownership of it.

Walter somewhere in the back roads of the Laurentians.

Looking cool, we were never-the-less stranded in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. There were no businesses or houses anywhere in sight, only the usual traffic of crazed Quebec drivers whizzing by us. We debated all our options and finally decided to tow the inert Triumph to the nearest civilization where repairs could be undertaken. At the very least, we would find a phone there to call for help if needed.

Luckily we had rope with us. It was part of our camping equipment that we had brought along for the trip. I tied one end to my bike, and the other to the front end of the Triumph. With about fifteen feet separating us, we were moving once again. We kept close to the edge of the highway allowing cars and trucks to pass our slower progress. I had very strongly advised Walter to keep the rope taut and not to let any slack creep in. My memories of a trip I had made in the sixties where a friend had towed another in exactly the same way, and how easy it was to get into trouble were still vivid.

Traveling as fast as I dared to go, I pulled Walter mile after mile without incident. At last we came round a bend to see a service station. I immediately signaled that I was taking the exit and heading for the parking lot. A quick glance back confirmed everything was going smoothly and I initiated the turn. Halfway through the turn

Walter's not the only one with bike problems.

something did not feel right, and I once again looked back and was horrified at what I saw.

Walter was still there riding on his bike. The problem was that he was doing it horizontally. I could not believe what my eyes were telling me. Except for being ninety degrees from normal and scraping along in the gravel, Walter looked no different than if he had been riding to the corner store. No cries of alarm. No attempt to separate himself from the Triumph. Did he just expect to arrive at the gas station as if nothing happened?

After cutting his bike free and untangling the rope wrapped around his front wheel, Walter pushed the bike into the lot. The station attendant asked him if that is the way he always rides to which he innocently replied, "What way?" Amazingly neither he nor the bike was any worse for wear. Luck continued with us when we learned that all that was needed to continue our trip was a zener diode, which was readily available at an independent shop nearby.