So I was headed to work, and my fuel light was on. No big deal, right? I normally ride to work and get gas next to the parking garage before I ride home.
Well, this time, apparently the fuel light had come on on my LAST ride, and I had already burned through my reserve.
So I'm cooking down Hwy 26 and the bike sputters once and dies. I put up my hand like racers do when they have a problem, checked over my shoulder, and coasted to the side. The X on the map on the freeway is where it died.
I had to push the bike uphill to where the onramp joins, roll it the wrong way down the onramp, and then push it up this steep hill with gravel all over the shoulder.
Finally at the top of the hill some guy who's a landscaper pulls over and gives me some gas so I can get to the next gas station, but I was tired. Tired and sweaty and it's a good thing I've been working out.
It was about or just under a mile I pushed it, uphill most of the way.
Being familiar with the area you were stranded at, I can testify this is a hell of a climb; even your photo doesn't justify the grade. No wonder you were pooped out.
In true confession,
after four decades of riding, I ran out of gas for the very first time this past summer. I was up in the Nor-Cal Sierras, had three long road construction delays with no possibility of turning around. Fortunately for me, I'm at the top of a long gradual decline. Snort-fart and semi-silence as the engine dies.
I pull in the clutch lever, and coast down hill. Again, fortunately for me, there was a sizable gravel section off the side of the road... a safe place to dismount and assess the situation: no gas.
Now, this is all fairly remote country. It's late in the afternoon. I am rather hesitant leaving my Ninja in such a vulnerable location to hike God only knows how long to find gas. I walk down the next chute and around a long sweeping left - no sign of civilization. GPS is not functioning because of the mountains & dense forest.
So, I get on the phone (poor signal, but grateful for any signal) and call A³. They send out a tow operator (in a small p/u truck) w/2.5 gal of petrol. He gets there remarkably fast. I'm grateful to have the 636 running again. I ask him if he can recommend a place to stay and to dine at. He pops a name for each question. I ask '... is it far... ', he says 'no'; folds the $65.00 cash I just paid him into his stained shirt pocket. He thanks me for the business and hands me my receipt.
Three more corners on I come upon the motel, ¾ of a mile beyond that I come upon two gas stations. Welcome to Quincy, CA. The experience: Priceless!
It could have turned out a whole lot worse.