perhaps a simple question...
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Thanks. Seemed right to me. Another 1.2 on top of that (I mean under it) would be alot.
I am sitting here looking at my mapsource software trying to figure out where to ride tomorrow...
Where to go? Where to go?
Thattaway!
Thanks. Seemed right to me. Another 1.2 on top of that (I mean under it) would be alot.
I am sitting here looking at my mapsource software trying to figure out where to ride tomorrow...
Where to go? Where to go?
Thattaway!
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jsmith24 wrote:
jsmith24 wrote:
It got started becausemost bikes didn't have fuel gauges. When the tank got low the engine would quite or sputter to let you know it's time to put on the reserve and find some more gas. The older VW bugs did the same thing. The later Goldwings don't have a reserve, the 1200 LTD/SEi and the 1500s don't. They do have low fuel warning lights for those who can't figure out the fuel gauge.Let me add a stupid question to that not-so-stupid one....
Why do bikes have a reserve tank? I mean, why not just let "E" be empty, like in a car? Be gentle with your replies, gents, I'm a first time owner.
Jack
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The reserve tank is a great thing, especially if you get into the grove riding and get lost in your thoughts and enjoyment of the scenery and forget to look at your feul gauge. I have often thought about adding a reserve tank to cars I own. Although, if you switch to reserve, fill up with gas, then forget to put it back on full tank setting, you can get yourself into quite a spot.
...which brings up a good story. I was riding my old 750 nighthawk back up hwy 61 to Memphis one spring day when it was just warm enough to ride during the heat of the day. I had just gone through Clarksdale, MS (near the Crossroads for any blues fans out there) and was travelling across the barren Mississippi delta towards Tunica (pre-casino era). I had previously had to run on reserve a while back and had forgotten to turn my switch back to full tank setting.... needless to say, I experienced that sinking feeling of slowly coming to a stop on the side of the road. Cages (cars) were zipping by without even taking a second glance at me, but luckily I had my cell phone with me. I dialed up the local highway patrol and they connected me to the local Sherrif's office. They could get a cruizer out there to bring me some gas, but it was going to take a couple of hours.... and a storm was rolling up from the south and west across the river.
Well, I sat there on my bike for about an hour while cagers indifferently rolled by me and started getting used to the idea of riding in the rain in below 50 degree (farenheight, for my friends across the pond) weather... not a fun prospect. Just as I was resigning myself to my fate, an older black gentleman in a pickup pulled up to me on the side of the road and asked me if I needed a lift.
To shorten up a long story, out of the hundreds of people that could have stopped and didn't, I had the grace and fortune to be assisted by a true Delta Blues man... James "Superchicken" Johnson. When he found out I was from Memphis, he just offered to help me load my bike in the back and took me there in his truck because he was headed that way anyway to play a gig on Beale St. Having at least as much common sense as God gave a gopher, I immediately accepted. We traded a lot of stories that could use a little salt shaken on them on the way up, dropped my bike off at my place, and I spent the rest of the evening gettin' the blues the good way.
Ride a bike... build your soul.
The reserve tank is a great thing, especially if you get into the grove riding and get lost in your thoughts and enjoyment of the scenery and forget to look at your feul gauge. I have often thought about adding a reserve tank to cars I own. Although, if you switch to reserve, fill up with gas, then forget to put it back on full tank setting, you can get yourself into quite a spot.
...which brings up a good story. I was riding my old 750 nighthawk back up hwy 61 to Memphis one spring day when it was just warm enough to ride during the heat of the day. I had just gone through Clarksdale, MS (near the Crossroads for any blues fans out there) and was travelling across the barren Mississippi delta towards Tunica (pre-casino era). I had previously had to run on reserve a while back and had forgotten to turn my switch back to full tank setting.... needless to say, I experienced that sinking feeling of slowly coming to a stop on the side of the road. Cages (cars) were zipping by without even taking a second glance at me, but luckily I had my cell phone with me. I dialed up the local highway patrol and they connected me to the local Sherrif's office. They could get a cruizer out there to bring me some gas, but it was going to take a couple of hours.... and a storm was rolling up from the south and west across the river.
Well, I sat there on my bike for about an hour while cagers indifferently rolled by me and started getting used to the idea of riding in the rain in below 50 degree (farenheight, for my friends across the pond) weather... not a fun prospect. Just as I was resigning myself to my fate, an older black gentleman in a pickup pulled up to me on the side of the road and asked me if I needed a lift.
To shorten up a long story, out of the hundreds of people that could have stopped and didn't, I had the grace and fortune to be assisted by a true Delta Blues man... James "Superchicken" Johnson. When he found out I was from Memphis, he just offered to help me load my bike in the back and took me there in his truck because he was headed that way anyway to play a gig on Beale St. Having at least as much common sense as God gave a gopher, I immediately accepted. We traded a lot of stories that could use a little salt shaken on them on the way up, dropped my bike off at my place, and I spent the rest of the evening gettin' the blues the good way.
Ride a bike... build your soul.
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