Julius Dusterhoft of Gina’s BMW was gravely injured in a crash at the Bash. Please keep him and Gina in your thoughts and prayers.

The BMW Bash     –By Cecil King

St. Louis, MO – The BMW Bash website had a straight forward invitation “Come and ride with us July 4th weekend in northwest Arkansas. All brands are welcome to ride in and join the good time at The Hub Motorcycle Motel and Campground located in beautiful Marble Falls, Arkansas.”

Well, what could be more inviting than that? The HUB was just a short ride of about 320 miles from St. Louis. The weather wasn’t looking too promising in St. Louis for the fourth of July. So, we made a phone call to the HUB Motorcycle Motel to book our $55.00 per night room and plan our weekend motorcycle adventure getaway.

The BMW Bash was sponsored by the mid-west region BMW dealers including Grass Roots BMW (Cape Girardeau), Engle Motors, Inc. (Kansas City), BMW/Triumph/Vespa of Little Rock (Little Rock), Gateway BMW Motorcycles, Gina’s BMW Motorcycles, BMW Motorcycles of Omaha, BMW Motorcycles of Oklahoma, Roadhouse Motorsports (Tulsa), Shreveport Motor Sports, Bentonville BMW

“Sorry, we’re booked solid for the Bash.”  That’s not what I wanted to hear, but a quick Google search produced the Ozark Mountain Inn on N. Main Street in beautiful Harrison, AR. Rooms were only $39.95/night and a short nine miles away from all the action at the Beemer Bashing HUB. The front desk clerk even said Elvis stayed there once. That sealed the deal for me.

As we pulled onto the Interstate Friday, the weather was a bit overcast and muggy. I had recently swapped out gas tanks on my thirteen year old R1100GS and this was the first long distance two-up ride with a new metal tank. My old plastic tank, “the bubble master,” had paint issues.

After all the time and effort to install the new tank, swapping out the fuel pump, filter, emission hoses, fuel cap and bezel, the last thing I wanted was do it over again because of a leak or hose failure. We were going to put it to a real-life test on this trip.

Our route took us to Rolla on I-44, then south on HWY 63 towards Cabool, MO at 165 miles and our first fuel stop. On the way, HWY 63 leads you through the dense forestation of the Mark Twain Forest. The amount of traffic became less and less as we rolled it on and started putting miles between us and Rolla. To the west, big billowing clouds were rolling in, but it seemed we could outpace them and avoid any sprinkles hidden in their mist.

Lisa pointed up to the east at a perfectly formed “sun bow,” a rainbow that completely encircles the sun in a 360-degree circle of vivid color. It was a perfect circular rainbow shaped like a big target around the sun floating in the sky. As we both contemplated this fantastic natural event for a few moments, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. A county mounty, with radar.

Grabbing the binders I pulled the bike back down to legal speed in the nick of time. Houston, MO was up ahead. We stopped for a break. After Houston came Licking and then Cabool. South of Cabool we picked up HWY 181, a twisty, peg-to-peg curvy road full of steep hills, dark forest, and a scenic bridge across the spring fed North Folk River.

Crossing the 30s era bridge, with its massive concrete arches soaring more than a hundred feet over the river, we were presented with a panoramic view of this hidden forest river and its majestic rock bluffs. Continuing through the ever tightening curves of HWY 181 we came upon the historic Hodgson Mill on Bryant creek.

Originally built in 1861, the mill is fed by a fresh water spring pumping out 3,000,000 gallons a day. The water was cold enough to dissolve the Missouri bugs off of my face shield and we peered at the original inner working hardware of the mill, which is still intact.

We pulled up to our motel at 5:30 p.m. Our friendly hotel clerk, Ester, was waiting to check us in. “I’ve got your room on the first floor, “ she proclaimed. “Continental breakfast starts a 6:00 a.m. and if you haven’t ridden in the area here are a few motorcycle riding guides.”

Later, while sacked out in bed, we found the “Jasper Disaster.” There it was in black and white printed on the brochure amongst the other motorcycle riding routes. We had our choice of “Mountain View Run, Osage Trail, and Peel’s Ferry Route” just to name a few, but the Jasper Disaster called out to be ridden.

Each one of the routes had the distance, gas stops and number of curves all neatly illustrated with a small map. The Jasper Disaster route took you right by the BMW Bash at the HUB. According the brochure, the “Jasper Disaster has the name for good reason! Mile for mile this route is the curviest riding route.” The route distance is 56 miles with 316 curves encompassing the most beautiful scenic section of Highway 7, follows Highway 74 over the mountains through the Buffalo River valley, and has scenic overlooks from Gaither Mountain and Mt. Sherman. There are massive drops in elevation and many opportunities to see wildlife. Our Saturday riding activities were planned.

Rolling into the HUB the next morning, we quickly dismounted and searched for any Gateway Riders who might be lurking around. Finding none, we saddled up and just about to leave when we saw Gene and Barb. After a quick chat, I fired up the GS, grabbed the brake and got a big surprise.

No front brake. I squeezed the brake lever right to the grip with no resistance. “Out of brake fluid,” I thought? A leak in my ABS? Whatever the problem was, my immediate task was to get some brake fluid in the system. We backed tracked to a Shell station and filled the brake reservoir. To my delight, I had a front brake again. But, after repeated testing, I was getting a soft lever action.

The Jasper Disaster was calling. I contemplated riding it with no front brake. Since I don’t really use my brakes that much anyway in the curves, we decided to go for it, albeit a little more slowly. We were rewarded by majestic views, cool mountain temps and spectacular views of Buffalo River gorges. Rolling into the historic town of Jasper, AR, we stopped at the quaint Ozark Café for lunch.

The walls of the Café were filled with memorabilia including old canoes, lanterns, photos, and knick knacks. Outside, the wind kicked up and the rain started to pour. Inside, we were warm and cozy while we watched the procession of helmetless Harley riders in their rain suits riding in the downpour. After a few minutes, we heard the sound of sirens echoing down the valley. Somebody has probably crashed in the rain.

Back at the HUB, I needed some expertise to diagnose my brake problem. Tom Huff volunteered, “Let’s take a look at it.” As he turned to go get his tools he shot back, “We’ll have to pull the tank.” That’s great I thought. Now I’m going to have to pull the tank off again. That was exactly what I didn’t want to do.

With the tank off, side covers and seats on the ground, my naked GS immediately started gathering a crowd of onlookers. We poked, prodded and peered into every crevice of the bike for the elusive leak. Nothing was to be found. As we all took a big sigh and scratched our heads, I unconsciously rested my hand on the handlebar and grabbed the brake lever.

A small pinhead stream of brake fluid immediately shot out of the hydraulic brake hose at the triple clamp. “Oh, so that’s where it is,” I thought to myself. Now, could we fix it? The owner of the Bentonville BMW shop said, “I don’t even stock that part back at the shop.”

This meant that I was probably going to have to limp home with no front brake. Well, the Jasper Disaster was conquered with no front brake; I guessed I could run another four hours or more back home on the Interstate with no front brake as well.

After a fabulous free pulled pork BBQ dinner with all the fixin’s including potato salad, rolls, salad and tea, plus a little music from the HUB’s band, we headed back to the motel.

The next morning, with bike loaded, we rode north through Branson to Springfield and caught Interstate 44 and rode all the way to St. Louis without ever having to use the front brake. Now that must be some kind of record somewhere!