Of mice, mountain men, and mechanics...Part 1

There are some stories that cannot just be made up. This one started with the onset of winter 2009-2010 in northern New Mexico. Things were getting slow at the motorcycle, shop, pay was about to be cut back, and worst of all hours and hours of boredom loomed ahead. My partner in the shop had come into a little bit of money and was looking for a project to fill the time.

My co-worker who I will call Mechanic 1 scoured the internet, found a likely candidate - a BMW R75/5 which looked to be in pretty good shape. Sure enough a few days later Mechanic 1, the bike and a story show up in the shop truck. The provenance of the motorcycle was problematic at best. Seems that Mechanic 1 had driven into the nether regions north of Santa Fe and bought the bike from a gentleman who may or may not have actually owned it.

The story is a little bit confused but this, I believe, is a fairly accurate rendition.

Mechanic 1 took the shop truck out to a location in the outskirts of Pecos, NM. To put that statement into perspective a little history of Pecos is in order. The little Pueblo of Pecos, and the area surrounding it hold 12000 years of documented history-most of it rather ill-fated. And in this chroniclers experience, things can not really say to have improved.

Back to the story at hand. Mechanic 1 shows up at the shop with this bike which, not unexpectedly, turned out to be a little worse for the wear than the Craigslist photos had suggested. Still though, well within the range of rebuildablity. Mechanic A had gotten a half-assed, hand written bill of sale, but no title. Bad enough in itself, worse, given the shady circumstances under which mechanic 1 reported aquiring the bike.

Seems he had driven out into the wild lands beyond Pecos... and land where confederate sympathizers, off-the grid liberals and meth lab proprietors run free. Not a place one would normally think of as a good place to roam alone alone, especially driving a truck emblazoned with a corporate logo which for them represents deep pockets and a certain level of snobbery.

We feared for his safety, yet back he came from this weird subculture unscathed, but also un-papered

Once he got back to the shop with this interesting, but rather sad looking machine sitting on the back of our little truck. There was, of course, the requisite ooooing and ahhhing that goes on among shop types upon the arrival of such a vehicle. Then the hard questions started.

"This bill of sale looks pretty shaky," said one.

"Are you SURE this guy actually owned the bike?" said another.

Mechanic 1 is now starting to get visibly nervous, and quite frankly so are the rest of us as we learn more about the story. The lack of a title, the fact that mechanic number 1 already parted with his hard won cash and the lack of returned calls is darkening his mood minute by minute.

When the phone finally rings a sudden ray of hope appears - followed immediately by fear.

"Ummmm yeah, I need to get the the title to this bike or bring it back" mechanic 1 begins.

What exactly the party on the other end said is still unclear to me, but I got the feeling he was none to happy to make the little trip out to the outskirts of town. And I did not blame him given the conditions he described and the financial and mental state of the original seller.

Fortunately, it was the next day our general manager, who some of us call Captain Picard, both because of his physical resemblance to that fictional character and because of his wisdom. Picard suggested that we let the seller know we could not keep the bike on the lot with an expired registration and lack of title. So mechanic 1 and myself ,mechanic 2 loaded the machine back into the shop truck and I since there was not much going on at the shop work-wise I was "volunteered" to accompany mechanic 1 out to Pecos to face up to what could possibly be a dangerous situation.

(To be continued...)