sputter = stranded

[thal13]

Could have been worse, and I found out EXACTLY what my mileage envelope is on a tank of gas. Ran out of gas on the superslab last night at 240 miles on the tank (only 5 miles from my intended fill-up), but luckily my sainted mother was able to run out with a gascan and rescue me. Luckily I was within 15 miles of her home.

I learned that there is ~ .5 gallons of gas in the tank that is unusable. Good to know. I usually get 47 - 48 mpg ( X 5.7 gal = 268 miles), but I must have been a bit happy with the throttle lately - took the kids out for a spin yesterday and treated them to some straight-line acceleration.

I've always pushed it and finally got owned. Beware!

Michael

[priapismic]

I learned that there is ~ .5 gallons of gas in the tank that is unusable. Good to know. I usually get 47 - 48 mpg ( X 5.7 gal = 268 miles), but I must have been a bit happy with the throttle lately - took the kids out for a spin yesterday and treated them to some straight-line acceleration.

I've always pushed it and finally got owned. Beware!

Michael

Curious about your 5.7 gal. figure. If I'm not mistaken, BMW's listed fuel capacity for the 50R is 5.4 US gallons (not sure about the Rockster). Friend of mine once ran his 50R dry, and it took 4.8 gallons to fill it up to the filler neck opening. That would jibe with your .5 gals. unusable observation. It also squares with my experience with BMW's stated 1.1 gallons of "reserve" capacity once the low fuel light comes on, as I will fill my tank with about 3.6 gallons *IF* I fill up immediately upon the light coming on.

Just wondering how you arrived at your 5.7 number?

[thal13]

Well there's my problem. I thought I had 3/10th of a gallon to go! Definitely won't let THAT happen again.

Thanks for the slap upside the head...

Yours truly...is an idiot

[R4R&R]

There is apparently some unuseable gas in the tank that sits on the other side of the 'hump'. The next time you try this, try leaning the bike over as far as you can on the right side to gat that little extra out of it.

I typically run mine over 200 miles to a tank, and rarely put in more than 5.0 gallons. It's usually around 4.8 for a fill-up. I think the furthest I've gone on a tank was around 240, but I usually get real paranoid over 220 miles.

[riceburner]

top tip - if you want to fill up the tank higher than the bottom of the filler neck with more ease - take the filler cap assembly out and drill a few small holes around the top of the filler neck.

This means you can get a litre or two more fuel into the tank without it taking ages for the levels to equalise.

[thal13]

If I modify the filler assembly to get an extra litre of fuel capacity, wouldn't that affect the charcoal canister? I always thought the can's purpose was to capture overfill, no?

Then again, as a daily 50 mi. commuter I really like the idea of maximum mileage between fillups - maybe I should just do the canisterectomy as well.

[toolinalong]

Me too. I have run out twice. 4.8 gallons seems to be it. 237 miles the first time, 10 miles from gas in Benton, CA; previous fill up had been in Pahrump, NV so I have an excuse.
I did not note the mileage the 2nd time, was feeling kinda dumb on that one, as it happened close to home. But it was only a somewhat uphill 700 ft. push.
Wish I had known about the slosh factor. Glad I do now.

[iowabeakster]

but I usually get real paranoid over 220 miles.

Yep, 227
As of yesterday, you all can count me as the newest member of the "OUT OF GAS CLUB".

It was a great experience, really. It reminded me of a weekly short story in the Des Moines Register every Sunday called anIowa Moment. Where people share nice stories about nice people. The following is a longer story about nice people.

My warning light came on with 175 on the odometer. I was probably 90 miles from home. When the odometer hit 200 I was feeling nervous. I hadn't seen a gas station in the TWO tiny towns that I passed through. Town number THREE was so small, I couldn't find the town, only to realize that I was in town. It sounds funny, but I am NOT JOKING. This was no town. With the odometer at 220, I pulled over and played with the GPS. FIND NEAREST AUTO FUEL: the listing at the top said "3.1 miles". Show me the way, Mr. GPS.

I was in a full racing tuck, to maximize efficiency, at 55-60 MPH. I MADE IT, but...all was not well. The gas station looked to have been closed for a long, long time. Screw you, Mr. GPS. But I tried it again, the next station on the list said, "9 miles".

I made it about 5 miles. Sputter (DAMN!), pulled in clutch, hit kill switch, and coasted to a junction with an unmarked gravel road. I call the girlfriend to tell her my story. She wanted to drive the 50 miles to the rescue (she was at work). There was a farmer out cutting hay nearby. I was thinking about flagging him down. I told her, "No, I'll be all right." She insisted. So I agreed, hung up, and lit a cigarette.

The first attempt at help was offered via hand signal from a passing Beemer rider. He was sandwiched in traffic by a tailgater, . I just waved him on. Immediately, a pick-up truck pulling a livestock trailer was on the shoulder and slowing. He pulled up and said,"You got a BMW, what else could you need?"

I said, "I need gas."

He responded, "Get in! "

I put out my cigarette, with only about 2 puffs taken, and jumped in the truck. I called Amy and canceled the rescue.

Kenny was his name. A self described, "old, poor farmer" and his two sons were on their way home from the county fair. They had a great couple days at the fair. The kids sold their best cattle and hogs (at double the market price!) in the 4-H show, and they were all in a great mood. Kenny later explained that it was tradition to buy beer for the people who paid the kids top dollar for their livestock. He was also razzing about his neighbor cutting hay, on a Red tractor .

Kenny's farm had seen much better days. He apologized for it and sent his son to find a gas can, "A CLEAN gas can." His son came back a minute later with a can. Kenny says, "Is it CLEAN?"

Son says, "Yeah, It's real clean."

Kenny takes it and shows it to me (spotless). I assured him that I was not very worried about the cleanliness of the gas can. Kenny says, "You don't want to fill up that nice motorcycle with dirt."

We headed down a couple more miles of gravel and passed a pair of teenage boys pushing an awful looking 80's vintage Trans Am. We stop, Kenny asked, "Did it catch on fire, again?".

"No, Not this time." one answered, smiling hugely.

Kenny asked, "You need help?"

Still smiling, the kid answered, "No." We drove on. Kenny talked about the problems of everybody in small towns knowing too much about each other. He made a comment about "Harley Riders v. BMW Riders" and "Green Tractor Farmers v. Red Tractor Farmers" that would indicate that he must read R1150R.Org. It was Very Funny.

We got to the gas station. I stuck my card in the pump, and filled the gas can. I didn't have any cash, so I offered to buy beer or dinner for all of Kenny's help. Kenny refused and responded, "I was hoping this gas would be on me."

We made it back to my bike. Filled it up, hit the starter, we were back in business. After the final (of dozens) "thank you" to Kenny, he headed home. I finally finished that cigarette. I took a few minutes smoking my smoke and getting my gear back on.

The Red tractor farmer, now finished cutting hay, rumbled up just to make sure that I was still not in need of help.

[ScooterCop]

That was a great story. And also the reason I need to move out of New York in 9 nine years when I retire.