I thought it was all over and done...

Today would be a little different. After yesterday's early start in order to get in two tours, which didn't work out, my plan was to take a late start to do a "Swamp Fox" tour in Georgetown, head to Wilmington, N.C., then do an off route trip to visit with old friends. 

In order to burn time until the 10 a.m. tour started I slept in, ate a full breakfast, went to the post office to mail out a couple small packages, then I went to the historic district. I had some difficulty getting my act together at the post office so when I walked down Front Street I was pleased to see the blue and white tram still sitting motionless, tour guide standing along side. I asked him when the next tour left and he said 11.

I looked at my phone - 10:03! I asked if I could still catch the 10 o'clock tour because I could not wait around until 11. He pointed down the street. "By the time you go the half block down to the ticket office, buy a ticket and get back here we'd be late starting. That would make every tour today backup and we can't do that."

We talked about the Swamp Fox TV show that Disney did back in the early '60s (filmed entirely in California!), and the movie Patriot Games (several scenes shot in the surrounding county). I then took leave of him, walked back two blocks to the bank, took care of some business, walked back to my bike, got on and rode around the corner where the tram still sat, empty and not going anywhere until at least 11a.m.!

As I rode east on highway 17 toward Wilmington I spotted road signs indicating routes to famous resorts like Myrtle Beach, where Betty's father loved to go for golf vacations. Somewhere in that same stretch I spotted a bill board proclaiming Helicopter Sight Seeing flights, 6.2 miles ahead. Let me say that 6.2 miles is ample distance to debate time, expense and willingness to ride on a helicopter. Because the tour had not delayed departure beyond 10:15, there was plenty of time. The expense didn't really matter, at least to inquire for a firm number. The willingness was never in doubt. It is on the list for further up the coast but why not cross it off now? All systems were go as I proceeded down the road. Then came a big stumbling block, a fork in the road, literally. I had seen nothing more than distance on the bill board. I knew not which direction to go, so I stayed on 17.

Apparently it was the wrong route as I never saw another reference to the chopper rides. Drat!

As I crossed into North Carolina three things occurred. I stopped for the requisite picture, it started to rain and I stopped for gas.

Picture:

Within five minutes it would have been too dark to take this picture!

Rain:

Oops! This time it was Subway that hosted the wet Frog. I took my rain coat off and, apparently, dumped the entire hood full of water on the floor in a small lake

Fuel. No picture, but this almost was my Waterloo. I started pumping the gas into the tank and began to wonder just how much gas it would take to fill the tank as I had gone down further on the range gauge than I typically would have done. As I watched the numbers spin around I was suddenly aware of something out of the ordinary. Sight, sound or smell, I don't know which sense cued me but I turned to see gasoline gushing out of the top of the tank, down across the entire right side of said tank and dripping, no, running down onto the engine which had just been running at high rpm in 89 degree heat. The same hot engine that creaked as hot exhaust pipes, crankcase housing and cylinders cooled. Because the bike was on the side stand the entire bike was tilted to the left so that all of the gas was running directly onto the cylinder heads!

I first backed away, not knowing if the bike and I would soon be consumed in flames. But as I pulled the fuel nozzle out of the tank I noticed that the tank was filled to the very top. Should I leave it open or screw the cap back on, which would displace even more fuel and increase the amount leaking onto the engine? I quickly screwed the cap back onto the tank, not knowing if it would make a difference.

After a few minutes I was reasonably sure that the conflagration was not going to take place. I took a few paper towels and wiped everything down. Even though dry, the fumes were nearly overpowering. I reported to the attendant inside that the automatic shut-off was not working and she replied very matter-of-factly that the company would be in later to look at it. 

I had visions of my bike, and maybe me, going up in a huge ball of flames. That would not have been good!

The rest of the afternoon was spent staying, ever so slightly, ahead of the rain clouds while I ran in circles. The GPS was lost and The Girls either didn't know it or wouldn't admit it. I finally pulled over and called Marisa, Colls mother, to see if she could direct me to her house. She did not recognize the name of the road I was on and I had no idea what direction I was from any of the landmarks with which she was familiar. 

It turned out I needed to be north of The Rockingham (of former NASCAR fame) and just west of Pinehurst (of PGA fame). I found it after riding around for almost an hour and a half. Frustrating!

Will be visiting with Marisa and Vern until tomorrow afternoon, then back to Wilmington to pick up the scent.