I’d parked and covered Terra Nova on the second floor of the crowded hotel parking garage, tucking her into a perfect space too narrow for a car and out of the way of everyone else. No one could kvetch about it.

We’d come 534 miles over two days, me aboard the Yamaha, Linda in her Subaru, separate because I desperately needed the saddle time in preparation for taking Terror on the 2025 Scooter Cannonball.

It was a poor effort, mileage-wise, but at least it was a start. And Terra Nova and I were getting to know one another again.

After letting the bike sit for a few days while we rediscovered what it was like to walk on an Atlantic beach, I check the oil – good – and the tires – a bit low.

No problem! I break out the Airman portable pump that runs off the bike’s electrical system and add two psi to the front tire and then start on the rear. I’m aiming for 38 psi, the pump gets to 37.5, and unexpectedly shuts down.

Well, that’s never happened before, I thought. The Airman isn’t that old, but maybe it’s bit the dust.

Then I check the auxiliary socket the Airman plugs into; no power. I’ve blown a fuse. I’m still not sure why, though maybe it was because the engine wasn’t running and the Airman was drawing too much power directly from the battery.

I wrestle the two side covers off and find the tiny purple 3-amp fuse (called a mini) has blown. I have exactly one spare, thoughtfully provided by Yamaha in the fusebox.

I carefully put everything back together. Later, we stop at a local auto parts store and buy more 3-amp mini fuses.

Anecdotally, there isn’t much to tell about this ride. I was miserable for the first 60 miles or so then things got better, a reacclimation of sorts.

We met old friends of mine in Raleigh, North Carolina, and I discovered the cap of the starboard fuel bottle container had vibrated off and vanished somewhere on the road. Miraculously, an Agri Supply store was a few miles away and I bought replacements.

Maybe it’s a case of realizing every ride, no matter how inconsequential, is important. No matter how far you go, you have to pay attention to it and be ready to fix or improvise when things go wrong. And you feel good about even small successes.