Oh Lord, I'm Stuck In Lodi Again........Well, Actually, Palmdale

Last month, I was going to go on a ride with a bunch of guys to Big Bear, a local mountain resort area where one of them has a cabin. I packed my sleeping bag and a toothbrush as well as a few cold weather items and headed towards Barstow, a particularly unattractive place to live, but a good spot to hook up with my buddy and ride in together. A weekend of riding, eating all the wrong stuff, telling lies and other geriatric motorcycle debauchery awaited me. What could possibly go wrong? I got about 60 miles from home and the bike began to run very poorly. I pulled over to the side of the road and attempted to find the problem. It acted like a fuel issue, but everything seemed OK, yet it ran like crap. I was able to nurse it to my daughters house. The next day, I returned with my trailer and drug it home. A laundry list of things that needed to be done, including moving Wifey's mom into a assisted living facility, kept me out of the shop for a few weeks. I was, finally, able to go down and tear into it. My first suspicion was the fuel pressure regulator, but it was holding a steady 4 pounds. Next I removed the fuel filter, which is a nice billet aluminum deal that I ordered from Jeg's. It has a 40 micron stainless screen in it. I opened it up and dumped all of this crud out of it. It is all rust. I suspect that it is due to the crummy, ethanol laced, moose piss that the benevolent oil companies are foisting off onto us and calling it gasoline. I'm no chemist but I believe alcohol is hygroscopic. It attracts water, which then condenses on the inside of the gas tank and, voila, clogs up the works. I only have 2 or 3 thousand miles on the bike since the new fuel system. I'd hate to think that this will happen again so soon. I plan on another ride in two days with the same group. I hope I'm not left stranded again. I'm going to hook the trailer to the truck before I leave so if the worst happens, I can call Wifey to come and pick me up