It is Friday afternoon I get the back rest put on,go get gassed up and air in the tires. I load a small backpack with a change of clothes and a dap kit.I am ready to visit family 400 mi. to the north and west of St.Louis. Today I get up and ready myself for the days journey. I take my backpack and throw it under the seat of my mighty steed, put the earbuds in, zip my jacket,tighten my chinstrap and fire the 03 650 up. The sun is out, it's 70 degrees, wind out of the south at 10 mph. I fight the traffic on I-70 across the mighty Missouri River till I get to HWY 61N. It is a four lane road that for the most part runs parallel to the Mississippi a mile or so to the west. Smooth as glass with long sweeping turns.I head north. I am motoring along at a very comfortable 60-65 mph, rocking on some Hendrix tunes, the wind at my back. I have about 300 mi. of this before I head west again.I am thinking this is going to be a great ride! My serenity was short live for I soon was starting to hear a high pitched whirling noise? I thought what @#$$ is that? I slowed down. I sped up. No change except in pitch. I shimmied the handle bars, the bike was stable. The noise grew louder, it now had my full attention. I must stop now! there is a overpass just up a head.I pull over underneath it. after I got off the scooter I saw the problem. Diablo had called this Parnelli back to ****. My rear tire was flat. Well, I sat on the guardrail looking at the 650 Burgman in disbelief. My wonderful day has just ended 50 mi south of Hannibal MO. Guess what? There is nothing around for miles and miles. Now trying to carry on a conversation underneath or near a overpass is like talking in a noisy bar with a rock band. Then I find my insurance contact tells me they have no record of roadside assistance on the bike. The devil was after my soul too, like my tire. It was then I succumbed to the darkside and became verbally abusive to some women, who was only trying to help me, while doing the Burgman death dance along the roadside. You know the one. Pacing about, doing circles, cell phone crushed to your face, free arm flailing like a madd Italian trying to accentuate a point of view. But, to who, the road kill that lay about? Got to be the low point of the day, but wait there is more! The lady from road side assistance tells me estimated time of rescue is one hour, I gotta pee. Now of all the places in Missouri to break down.I break down in an area where there is no place to discretely relieve yourself, Oh Well, I sure as heck didn't soil myself. I am sitting on the guardrail drinking hot water, a guy riding a Harley stopped too see if I needed help.I told him help was on the way. We both agreed that flat tires suck and then went on down the road. It wasn't long after that that Jacobson Towing showed up and we loaded the bike and were on our way back to St.Louis. The bike haul was only 87 dollars+ 2.50 per mile after 35 mi.I had him drop the bike and me at the closest zuki shop out side of St.Louis, 34.3 mi. dodged a bullet there. Now for the bike damage. There is a hole about the size of a pencil in the tire. The tire has only 1300 miles on it . It not repairable. New Diablo mounted balanced, 206.00 dollars. At least I get the bearings checked and brake pads also. Well here I am back in my apartment for the weekend, the scooter will not be done til next Friday. The shop did not have my tire in stock and the don't order on weekends,or holidays.But, I do have a standing invite to the Cubs, Cardinal game tomorrow. I think I will take the train in, it has steel wheels.