Jul 23, 2026
Like me, you have been fretting whether I'll just drivel on, cranking out these entries when nothing more is to be said.
He'll be bored in his Seattle airport hotel, and just blather on.
Yes, maybe so. But then, maybe not... You'll have to read on, though.
The lightrail system has been modified recently to be dirt simple: $3.75 flat. You tap your watch against a dispensing machine at the station entrance, and you are good for some number of hours, including tranfers.
The inside wall of the downtown station is creatively decorated.
I forgot to mention a detail about all the air traffic above wildfires. The smokejumper planes. Tankers, retardant spray planes, equipment delivery planes, helicopters. Above them all is a passenger plane, larger than a Cesna, but smaller than the other aircraft.
That's the mobile air traffic control. They have communications open to the other aircraft, the crew on the ground, and to the administration. Not a job to envy, I'd say.
I rode through many highway lane resurfacing construction areas. One stood out. The lane being worked on along the old surface on which I was riding past was steaming from fresh, hot tar. A steamroller was rolling in my direction, smoothing it all down.
The operator, sitting sideways to his direction of progress was engulfed in a mix of his machine's hot steam, and the tar fumes. Why no protective breathing apparatus?
He was smoking.
As explained at some point, I found a BMW car dealership willing to store my bike safely for the week's worth of loading window that the Federal Motorcyle Transport had provided.
My SMS contact, Quinn Johnson, was really nice when I explained what I needed. I kept him up to date on my progress with the transport company, and my own approach down British Columbia. Most likely a motorcycle guy himself.
The following exchange unfolded between me, in riding gear, holding my helmet, and the sales people in the BMW car dealership. Starting with a really nice woman:
Can I help you?
Andreas, summarizing the arrangments we made:
I have been communicating with Quinn Johnson.
I hesitate, awaiting a signal of recognition in her face. It arrives.
As arranged with him, I am here to drop off my motorcycle. Federal Motorcycle Transport knows to pick it up. The load window is Jul 28 - Jul 31.
Quinn said any of you could help me.
The woman:
Got it. Quinn is Corporate. Give me a moment to get the context, and see how to proceed.
I take a seat in what would normally be the drooling-over-my-future-car lounge area. Some minutes later I am surrounded by the woman, a salesman, and the sales manager with a Birmingham, England accent.
Beautiful, broad Birmingham accent:
Andreas, you pulled a win over us. We never, ever accept requests for car transport drop-offs or deliveries. Never mind motorcycles.
Any dent in the vehicle is likely to lead to a lawsuit. 'This dent was not there when we dropped it off.' Or the pickup truck doesn't arrive, and we are stuck with the vehicle.
Also, all these cars on the lot are secured in the multi-story garage across the street every night. We just don't have the storage to accept these types of request.
Not what I expected!Birmingham continues:
However, we are in a bind here. Quinn Johnson does not exist. He is an AI. One of the sales crew is supposed to monitor its interactions. That supervision clearly did not occur.
You really don't leave us a choice. You win an entire week of free motorcycle storage. I could pull my final card, and insist that it be a BMW motorcycle, though I ride a Dukati. You say yours is a BMW, though, and I wouldn't do that. We'll honor Quinn's commitment.
We'll write up a total liability waiver, which you'll need to sign. We'll take a video around the bike to document any existing blemishes.
While we wait for the document, we discuss his love of motors and his Dukati:
We sell oodles of electric cars. But I just like gas motors. I love the sound.
My Dukati is a typical Italian piece of shit. But I love how it looks and sounds. Of course you don't expect the gas gauge to work on a Dukati. Good luck starting it in the rain.
When I call Dukati, they just say 'Yep, the bikes do that.'
Document signed, we wander over, take the video. I change into street clothes right there on the lot, because I'm wearing bicycle shorts underneath. He rides the bike up into the garage, and returns enhused: "What a beautiful ride! Doesn't feel heavy at all."I just hope he won't change his mind when he has to roll the bike back down onto street level for the truck. The truck guy won't be allowed to do anything in the garage. Liability...
And I have the key. Federated Motorcycle Transport doesn't want it...Liability.
