We were off to the races. We shuffled off to Buffalo. Well not quite Buffalo, but near there: Olean, NY, for the Rally In The Valley, and then to Dansville, for the Poags Hole Hill climbs. It was late Saturday afternoon; the Rally was winding down. My three friends and I fired up and nodded to each other that we were ready to pull away from the curb. I pulled in the clutch, dropped it into first, and lurched awkwardly, narrowly missing a small group of pedestrians, before I stalled her out, and rolled sheepishly back to the curb. My clutch cable stuck straight up in the air, looking amazingly like some kind of strange whip antenna. Hmmm. An aftermarket cable, she came apart at the ferrule. It was late on a Saturday and the closest Harley dealer was an hour away. We plied the dwindling crowds at the Rally looking for a clutch cable. We got a few leads and the best one boiled down to this: there was a guy in a bar outside of town who "might" have one that "might&