Day 4 of the 2018 Prefrontal Tour was a melange for the senses. Rising before dawn out of habit, we were anxious for good news about the bike. Any news would have been better than waiting for the shop to open at 9 AM. I made the compulsory check with the service department to make sure I'd actually sweet-talked my way to the front of the line, and headed to the respective parts departments of the Honda, Indian and Harley Davidson dealers in search of spare fuses, having exhausted my supply the day before. Lather, rinse, repeat,... We waited until noon and had to check out of the adjacent hotel in search of more affordable digs. Fortune at least placed the Honda dealer in the midst of a brand new mega-scale shopping and dining complex. The sound aspect of the melange was provided by the friendly staff at Man O' War Harley Davidson, who let us test a half dozen motorcycles and pretend we could or would afford them. That killed a little time, long enough for the shop to call and let me visit my bike in the recovery room. The sight part of the melange was a sad state of affairs, as accessing the reverse mechanism requires massive surgery akin to removing a person's internal organs, but only through the left nostril. I shamefully bribed the technician to work through lunch and offered to Uber anywhere to get any spare parts. About an hour later, he called to say he had successfully identified a bad solenoid in the rear of the bike, and that a replacement was on the way by overnight express. He also found and removed an enormous rodent nest from the air filter, which is otherwise inaccessible and only visible by endoscope. (And once the bike turns 50, it will apparently need one of those every two years). Our current hope is to get on the road later tomorrow for a couple hours of "shake down, make up" time. The smells portion of the melange was a throwback to yesterday, in that the halls and common areas of our new cut rate hotel smell worse than a 1980's teacher's lounge - cigarette smoke so thick it feels palpable, just like the little country store we were stranded at, with a proprietor who would pass for my late great Uncle Keith, missing eyelashes and all. On a high note, we actually found a restaurant that gives an AARP discount, a first for both of us. You gotta take the victories where you can, no matter how small.