Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever seen a ghost?
Submitted by Nancy.
This isn't so much a ghost story as a motorcycle story, but it fits. You'll see.
Old Triumph motorcycles have a reputation for two things-- leaking oil, and horrible electrical systems. The former is caused by the fact that old Triumphs just leak oil as a matter of habit. I'm pretty sure it's their way of telling you they love you. The electrical problems are caused primarily by Lucas electrics. Lucas was an old British manufacturer of electrical components for cars and motorcycles, and they have a reputation for being egregiously unreliable. Anyone who has ever dealt with old British vehicles has offered up many a curse over Lucas, Prince of Darkness. I've never even owned an old British vehicle, and I know their reputation.
In the spring of 2000, I cashed out the stock from one of my early dot-coms and bought the motorcycle I'd been lusting after for a long time-- a Triumph Sprint ST. I'd fallen in love with the Sprint the moment I saw it, and I vowed that if my AdKnowledge stock ever became worth anything, that's what I would buy with it.
I picked up the bike on a Saturday afternoon. Monday I rode it down to a friend's house to show it off (which is where this picture was taken). While bike admiration was happening, Charlie asked, "Hey, why doesn't your headlight work?" We played around and discovered that the low beam was completely no-workee. I called the shop I bought it from, and dropped it off the next day for them to look at. A few days later the parts came in, and they replaced the entire wiring harness in the bike. This should have been a clue, but I was naive and optimistic and not really attuned to the ominous foreshadowing and the foreboding soundtrack.
Much riding ensued, including a couple of trips to LA and one to Vegas via Death Valley during the World Series of Poker. I was happy. I loved this bike. It had a few problems, including a cranky fuel sender (the thing that tells the bike how much gas is in the tank) and a battery that died a premature death, but it was insanely fun to ride.
About a year after I bought it, I took the bike in for its 6000 mile service. On the way home from the shop, as I was doing over 80mph in the fast lane of 101 in heavy traffic, the bike stalled. I somehow managed to get over to the right and onto the shoulder without getting splatted by a fast-moving truck. The bike proceeded to not start repeatedly. Eventually it started, ran for a bit, and stalled again. After a couple rounds of this, I noticed something interesting-- when the bike wouldn't start, the temperature and fuel gauges were flatlined. I could sit with the ignition on and wait for them to wake up, and as soon as they did the bike ran normally. I had it towed back to the shop. They kept it for a few days, tweaked every electrical connection, and couldn't get it to fail even after a 50-mile ride. I picked it up, and it ran flawlessly for several weeks.
I decided to repeat the previous year's Vegas trip, including a ride through Death Valley. It's not so bad in May, really, since it rarely gets over about 110. On my way out, the bike stalled briefly in San Jose but started up again very quickly and ran flawlessly all the way to Bakersfield where I stopped for the night.
The next day I did a beautiful ride through the hills east of Bakersfield, shot up 395, and then took 190 into Death Valley. As I was heading downhill into the valley, the bike stalled. I pulled over for a few seconds, but it started back up again almost immediately so I continued. A few minutes later, it stalled again. This time it took a while to get started. Another stall, but popping the clutch started it. Another stall, and I pulled over and jiggled every wire I could find. At this point I was extremely hot from all the gear I was wearing, and had sucked down nearly an entire Camelbak full of icewater. I still had a lot of water in my luggage, but I was not a happy camper-- I was hot and dehydrated and not feeling all that great.
After a couple more rounds of the stall game, I gave up and flagged down the next motorist who passed. Strange coincidence: he owned a motorcycle rental company. He was going the wrong direction, but tossed me into his air-conditioned van and waited until someone came by who was going the right way, then flagged them down. A pair of charming Dutch tourists gave me a ride to Stovepipe Wells, where I poured two bottles of Gatorade into myself and called Las Vegas to get a towtruck sent out. There is nothing in Stovepipe Wells but a gas station, a motel, and a few trailers. After five hours of sheer boredom, the truck showed up, we drove up to fetch the bike, and bounced our way back to Vegas. Side note: several hours in the cab of a flatbed with a professional tow truck driver do not produce scintillating conversation.
By the end of the next day, I'd already memorized the phone number of Jerry, the customer service director of Triumph of North America. The upshot was that I wound up renting a U-Haul and trucking the nonfunctional bike back to the bay area. My dealer tried for several weeks to fix it, and even after replacing every electrical component in the bike, it still wouldn't run. I got a shiny new bike as a warranty replacement, and knock wood the new one has run flawlessly.
The official diagnosis of the first bike? It was haunted by the ghost of Lucas, Prince of Darkness. It makes as much sense as any other explanation.