Time For All Dogs To Be Dead

[Cogswell]

Ahhh - more great photos. What a trip! Love the popsicle. Sometimes it's the simplest of things that bring the greatest pleasure - I'll bet that tasted great right about then. Thanks for this thread - great read.

[adeyren]

The sun dawned and the light spilled over the treeline to reveal a nearly empty campground. The commune that had existed only hours ago was gone, or was it all in my head?

I had some miles to cover this day, so I regretfully didn't have time to go hiking or explore Yosemite much. Heading through the park, I realized that this was the first time in the trip actually heading true East. The road climbed some more, and I found myself on Tioga Pass.

I saw several of these trucks from Switzerland. Love them! Why can't we have cool stuff, America? Switzerland gets these brutes, Australia gets utes, and basically everyone else gets small diesel trucks and Toyota Hiaces. Take all our Corvettes and Mustangs in trade for diesel Hiluxes!

Descending was equally beautiful. Tioga gets frustratingly close to 10,000ft elevation at 9,943ft.

Almost at Lee Vining, CA, I observed a very large group of Harleys turn ahead of me, so my curiousity got the best of me and I decided to figure out what they were up to. Turns out, they were pulling into the Mobil gas station. Not having eaten breakfast, I stopped and figured I'd scrounge up a granola bar or something. Inside the gas station was a full fledged restaurant, the Woah Nellie Deli. No greasy spoon, as I am accustomed to from petrol station (for my Euro audience) eateries.

I had the “World Famous Fish Tacos” with mango salsa, ginger coleslaw, and a side of black beans. World Famous is a pretty pretentious thing to boast when you're operating in a filling station, but they did not disappoint. Excellent food, reasonable price (a lot more so than the fuel prices), very quick service.(And they had Tapatio!) After the delicious food, I went out to my bike and found a fellow rider enjoying the shade of a nearby tree. We talked a while, and he recommended a route that, strangely enough, was the exact route I had planned solely by convenience. At his urging, I visited the Mono Lake Visitors Center and left quite fascinated by the uniqueness of the lake and the surrounding areas. Hearing about Bodie, a ghost town about 35 miles away really piqued my interest, but I needed to make some miles and the miles of dirt road back to Bodie didn't sound too promising on the ol VFR. Off I go again...

I took 395 south to catch 120 east. Once on 120, I simply had to stop at Mono Lake and view some of the oddities that I had learned of at the visitor's center.

What I would have called aboveground stalagmites were actually called tufa, deposits of salt left from springs that once fed the lake. Mono Lake has a very high salt content, approximately 3 times more salty than the Pacific Ocean, and a pH of 10. For comparison, ammonia has a pH level of 11.

Of particular interest were the small hordes of alkali flies that massed near the water's edge. In massive numbers, these flies could easily make for an uncomfortable except for the fact that they rarely fly more than a foot off of the ground, in direct opposition of every stinkin' gnat and mosquito in the southeastern US, which seem to thrive right at face level.

Back on the road again, I see why the guy described 120 as a great ride. What a range of ecology, from an alkaline lake to desert to volcanic devastation zones, such as this one.

Smalls forests, a few corners, smooth pavement, elevation change, scenery, 120 ticks all the boxes for a great scenic ride.

Boundary Peak

One more state.

I stopped at a small gas station to cool off (only upper 90's, so not terribly hot, but still) and found these amazing popsicles.

It was basically frozen pineapple juice concentrate, but oh so refreshing.

There were definitely some fun stretches, such as the piece of 120 that had no elevation smoothing. Running 80-90 mph down and up the dips was exhilarating, coming very close to catching air multiple times. The closest thing to paved moguls I've ever seen. Every now and then, there would be a sharpish corner on an off camber hump, which felt like the closest I'll ever get to a motocross style tailwhip. Great fun.

Once into Tonopah, NV, things got boring. REAL boring.

This is a perfect representation of what it's like to ride on 376 in Nevada.

Along with that, I submit this terribly produced example of a time lapse of 50 miles on 376 that passes in 19 seconds. Seriously, lesson learned, shorter intervals and have the GoPro on a solid mount, not a helmet mount.

The country side blurred by and all into one. Nothing exciting, nothing to look at, just straight, flat forever. Wait, what is that running into the road? From the middle of nowhere, a huge (for a) coyote charged out of the brush at my bike. I was running about 90mph, I couldn't stop in time, so I swerved at it, hit the horn and revved the engine in an attempt to startle it. It worked, thankfully, and I made it by with about 4 feet separating my legs from its incisors.

After I had my excitement for the day, things settled back down into the doldrums that are US 50, otherwise known as the Most Lonely Road in America. After riding on 376, however, US 50 felt like an interstate with all the traffic. Why, I must have passed a car or truck about every 5 miles. Must have been rush hour.

I rolled into Eureka, NV right in time to catch the sunset and crash at my cousin's house.

Today's Takeaway: Is it time to head East already?

Check out the seventh photo down Pink Floyd fans - name the album.

Track one sums up SCguy.

[WGREGT]

Bodie is well-worth the stop, but getting there is surely not bike-friendly. The last 13 miles is all rutted dirt road. I have a side hobby of ghost towns and abandoned places, and it's one of the best on the West coast. I stayed in Bridgeport overnight at the Bodie Hotel (it was moved to Bridgeport when Bodie thinned out). It was.....not good.

[Switchblade]

Same bag that lost all of it's contents before?

Life always has it's little challenges .

Great ride report !

Sure was. I'm fixing to take the side racks off and maybe even the top rack to feel what the VFR is like as a lightweight (relatively) again.

Wheelie time !

[Dutchy]

Wish you were here....

Now playing in your honor sir!!!

[adeyren]

Youre the man Dutchy. Also been playing it today. Never ages. You ever read how they took that shot? Whats that big round black thing??

[Dutchy]

And now back on topic!!!

[adeyren]

Aaah i remember now. Where the hell did you find that clip, haven't seen that for???.

Seriously, i got rid of all my albums 25+ years ago, approx 300 of them. Worse thing i ever did.Wish i knew then what i know now. Sigh.

[Terry]

SCGuy, I just wanted to thank you for continuing to post this fantastic road trip. Your photos are superb and the prose well considered and witty.

I can echo your thoughts about Yosemite cuisine; I took my family there just after new years, and in spite of a steady stream of tourists, the dinner pickings were very slim. It was a little colder when I was there too:

[SCguy]

Do not fear, I haven't given up on writing, just been busy. I'll get another installment out soon.

[SCguy]

Arriving in Eureka was very much welcome, coming from less than ideal, but still passable, camping conditions the night before and the lengthy ride of the day. My cousin and her family made me feel right at home with steaks and all sorts of wonderful food. It was great seeing someone I knew again, as the last familiar face had been in Nebraska.

The next day, we ate at the Pony Express Deli in Eureka (can't miss if you find yourself in Eureka), as it was shrimp po-boy day. I sure didn't feel like a poor boy while enjoying great food and fellowship on a fantastic journey, every day bringing it's new surprises and discoveries. No po boy, indeed.

I had been planning to leave yet that day and ride to Zion, but the promise of a Uruguayan asado that evening managed to persuade me otherwise. That afternoon, I got to observe a bit of the agricultural lifestyle that is so prevalent in the area. No farm boy, I was enthralled with the latest innovations in crop farming. From satellite-guided auto steer on tractors and sprayers to hay steamers, the amount of efficiency gains in farm equipment is rather impressive.

That evening, we went to the asado. The flanken-cut short ribs were amazing. Another thing I'd never tried before was grilling an egg in a bell pepper. Delicious! No regrets on staying.

The next day, I really did have to be going, so I said my farewells and left in command of the long trail of dust that followed me down those straight Nevada gravel roads. Unlike the other gravel I'd encountered in the trip, Nevada roads were a breeze. Well packed, albeit dry and dusty, not much care was needed when wandering off of the pavement to where all of the good stuff is. Interesting note: you really don't have to look hard to spot gravel road traffic a mile off but you do, however, have to look hard to see anything if you turn in after them into the wake of their localized atmospheric destruction. Visibility – zilch.

Eureka Opera House. No open auditions that day, so my dulcet tones fell on deaf ears. The question is, were the ears deaf before I belted out my Figaros?

Leaving Eureka, a pretty cool old town, I took US 50 east once again. Once through Ely (pronouced eel-ee, I had the worst time pronouncing Nevada town names) I took US 93 southward. Absolutely nothing happened on that road on my time on it, perhaps ever. Straight, boring. End of story.

Pioche, NV had a reputation for being one of the roughest towns in the west. Legend says that 72 men died in gunfights before the first natural death in the town.

Utah, here I is.

The rocks are now red.

Zion National Park arrived with no fuss whatsoever. I finally found a camping spot that was a group spot that I shared with about 6 other couples.

I rode into the park a bit to try and take some photos, but it just got dark too quickly, so I switched to light trail effort and that failed as well.

While back at my tent and writing up another update, I focused my camera on the brilliant night sky, but despite my best efforts, someone always managed to drive or walk through my photos with some manner of light.

Today's Takeaway: You've got to go through a lot of doldrums to get to the exciting stuff sometimes.

[SCguy]

Zion National Park graced me with a great night's sleep, which was well appreciated later in the day. The park had been high on my list, but as things worked out. I had little time to spend there. I know I could well have stayed several days there exploring, but as it turned out later, I'm glad I kept moving.

Golden morning painted the park with its broad brush of light, bringing certain geographical features into the spotlight, if you will, while leaving those in the shadows to the heady anticipation of wonders yet to come.

The faithful ol' Honda propelled me up higher, towards the rising sun, leaving the shadows behind.

Zion was simply stunning in it's radiant morning beauty. I really can't describe it, you really need to experience it for yourself. Isolated from the ravages of civilization, life goes on within the park unhindered.

Geology has never been a secret hobby of mine, to be sure, but viewing the various upheavals of the earth lends one to a curious fascination with the study.

A large group of European types on rented Harleys and I played leapfrog throughout the park, taking turns pulling over and admiring, capturing and experiencing the impressive scene that lay before, behind, and all around us.

The Desert Big Horn sheep were a great attraction at one roadside pulloff. Jockeying for camera position with a group of cyclists from Quebec, I managed to snap a few quick photos.

Checkerboard Mesa was appropriately named.

Zion NP was incredible, including the tunnel with the scenic windows. What a great idea! I really wish I could have spent more time in the area, hiked Angel's Landing, etc, but I had to be back on the road. Plans were to experience as much of Utah as I could in one day.

A quick dash up US 89, then hanging a right onto highway 12 put me into Bryce Canyon National Park. I wasn't sure what to expect, I hadn't researched it at all, but it came highly recommended.

Incredible views. Quite the panorama. I only visited Bryce viewpoint, and again, felt cheated that I had no chance to hike among the hoodoos.

After soaking in the view a while, I observed with annoyance a man with a “selfie stick” spending all of his time at the edge of this spectacular viewpoint taking photos and videos of himself, all the while oblivious of the beauty that surrounded him, only concentrated on how many “likes” he was fixing to get on social media. On the other end of the spectrum, I watched a couple rather advanced in their years sitting on a bench, arms around one another, her head on his shoulder, his left hand absent mindedly tapping his walker while they drank in their magnificent surroundings. Now I ask you, reader, who truly lived in this moment? Seriously, put the phones down, for crying out loud, don't take photos with tablets, just be still, silent, observant. Live. Live in the moment once in a while, leave tomorrow and yesterday out of it . End rant.

Sprinkles from the sky sent me scrambling back to my steed to skirt the subsequent showers.

I simply had to pull over and observe this massive sheet of rock. Astounding. The forces needed to create this overlap are mindboggling.

Somewhere in Utah, after I successfully outran the rain.

The countryside never ceased to deliver on the visual front. Mile upon mile of just gorgeous scenery. Mind numbing almost, kind of like Barber Vintage Motorsport Museum in Leeds, AL. One can only take so much in before their mind is reeling trying to keep up.

I tried my best to stay concentrated on the winding road all the way to Torrey, where I turned east on Highway 24 into Capitol Reef National Park.

Words fail me.

Traffic was very sparse, affording me the time to setup my favorite picture of my bike of the entire trip. I kept my head on a swivel, but no cars interrupted my bike's (admittedly elegant) portrait session.

I had heard that 95 between Hanksville and Hite was a can't miss caliber of road, so off southward I went. 95 was pretty disappointing for the first bit, until I drew nearer to Hite. The vistas afforded by the elevation over the valley were unparalleled and only hampered by a pervasive haze that filled the air, limiting visibility slightly.

A look over what remains above water of Hite.

I'm not sure if I've ever ridden across a more beautiful bridge. I got so excited when I spied a road leading down to it and into the valley. I was practically jumping up and down with excitement to be on such a marvelous stretch of pavement. The view down to the Colorado River was enrapturing.

Vanessa patiently waits while I wander around with my camera.

I'd been reading Neal Peart's Ghost Rider and I finally had a chance to do a “ghost rider” shot like on the cover.

If Michigan is a left hand, I found the lost other side.

360 degrees of stunning views.

Somewhere after Fry Canyon, dusk fell. Beautiful evening colors, but I was focused on the road, keeping an eye out for wildlife run amuck. A wise choice, I found out a minute later, as what should slink across the road ahead of me, but a real, live mountain lion. I slowed to a stop, thinking I could maybe get a picture until my brain caught up and informed me that I should probably keep moving. Seeing a cougar really was a highlight of the trip.

I made it to Blanding, where I refueled both myself and the bike. Myself at the A&W restaurant, the bike at the pumps outside. I then rode south to Bluff, where I turned in to camp at Sand Island Campground, the only BLM campground I visited on my entire trip. It turned out to be a pretty nice spot, right along the San Juan River.

Relaxing, catching up on a little reading and enjoying the starry night, my new neighbors rolled in. Pulling a camper with their Ranger, they proceeded to backing the camper into their spot an act of Congress. The wife stood behind and gave instructions to the husband, who was backing blind with no reverse lights in pitch black darkness. To complicate things, she kept using “left”, “right”, “port”, and “starboard” interchangeably, much to the frustration of her significant other. He'd try for several minutes, get frustrated, pull out of the spot, make a fast loop around the campground, rinse, lather, repeat. After about a half hour of the above proceedings, I was about to go over and offer my assistance, but they finally decided that the truck sticking half out into the camp road was acceptable, reconciled their arguments, had a few laughs, and turned in.

As did I.

[Cogswell]

Southern Utah really is magical. Beautiful photography.

[duccmann]

Rode threw in 86 on my 84 Interceptor, never will forget....great write up and those pictures are stunning

[SCguy]

Sand Island afforded a pretty good night's sleep. Once I accustomed to the incessant racket made by the expansion joints being driven over on the US 191 bridge, that is. The first order of business? Checking out the Sand Island Petroglyphs several hundred yards away from my campsite.

Speaking of campsites, I had a not so hot night. When I awoke, My sleeping bag and clothes were absolutely drenched. I first thought it had rained and come in through the hole I managed to rip in the tent floor back in Montana, but it was dry out. Using the extent of my forensic skills, I determined that being a total klutz, I had rolled in my sleep onto the bite valve of my hydration pack and effectively released 3 quarts of water throughout my small living quarters. I changed into dry clothes and got to finally use a piece of kit I made myself, something I have dubbed the Land Speed Velocity Drier.

It's simply a heavy duty mesh drawstring bag with sewn-on loops that allowed cinch straps to hold. I'd seen a company try to sell one similar for $45. The bag worked great, no flapping, it didn't hang off unevenly, and it dried my clothes. Not bad for $4.

Now, where was I?

Oh, right, the petroglyphs. I had wanted to go see them the night before, but I decided to spend a little time reading instead. By some sheer stroke of luck, no one had made off with the sheer bluffs under the cover of darkness, so view them I could.

They were fascinating. There really is no date established for their creation, but the very informational sign guessed them to be anywhere from 300-3000 years old. That's quite a guess.

While the petroglyphs lent themselves to a real sense of history and wonderment, the graffiti carved into the rock lent itself to a sickening disgust for the ruination of what should be respected and preserved. Custer died for your sins? Really? Was that worth defacing this great piece of history?

The view helped me calm down a bit, and then it was back on the road for another day of riding.

Thankfully, clouds shielded me from the possibility of a blistering Utah sun as I leaned left onto US 191, heading south for Arizona. Once into Arizona, I turned east onto US 160 at Mexican Water and headed for Four Corners. I stopped at Teec Nos Pos for a quick road breakfast of a granola bar and a honey bun. The cloud cover became thicker and ominous as the winds picked up and I headed up towards Four Corners.

Arriving in Four Corners, I quickly decided not to pay an entrance fee, so I just turned out and took a quick picture firmly in New Mexico. For free. My kinda shot.

New Mexico went by in a flash and I entered Colorado, staying vigilant watching the rain cascade on Ute Mountain and east of me over Mesa Verde. It's a great experience, riding in “almost rain.” There's a certain primitive delight in dealing with the uncertainties of Mother Nature that I think we have lost in modern life. With cars that shelter us from rain, have snow tires, air conditioning, electricity, heaters and headlights, we really don't feel the true impact of weather with the exception of catastrophic events. On two wheels, you have to be in tune with your surroundings at all times, eagle eyed, ready for the wind gusts, the driving rain coming down the mountains, the unexpected early darkness. Being attentive to our situation is important, fun, and tiring all at the same time.

Weather can turn the most boring situation into one of dire urgency, mental calculations, and just plain luck trying to outrun rain, and when you fail, finding a place to don your rain suit and batten down the hatches. So it was in Cortez, CO. I would have loved to visit Mesa Verde, but the weather simply would not permit it, so I pressed on northward on highway 145. The views had changed dramatically from Utah to Colorado and I was fast approaching “classic” Colorado. The roads wet, steam rising from the asphalt, the creeks running clear and fast, elevation climbing, temperature dropping. Trees. Yes, trees. I even remembered what they were called. I wasn't sure when I embarked into Nevada if I could remember general classes of flora on the flip-flop. Wonderful stuff.

Unfortunately, due to the rain, the camera did not make many appearances. Left a little hungry after a small breakfast, I stopped at Sawpit Mercantile in Sawpit for some grub. I had the pulled pork sandwich which was pretty good and topped it with their homemade “Carolina Mustard” BBQ sauce. Now, let me get this straight. I love me some pulled pork, and while the pork is very important, equally important is the sauce. Like any civilized, educated, God-fearing person, I prefer a mustard base sauce, as is the norm for my area of upbringing in South Carolina, much to the chagrin of those in North Carolina who adulterate their pork with vinegar based sauces, those who prefer ketchup based sauce (it's not a hotdog, c'mon), and (gasp) mayo based sauce favored somewhere where common decency and good taste must have been thrown out long ago. BBQ sauce is a serious matter. In fact, if civil war ever breaks out in the United States again, simple facts will show that it would be 27% likely to have been started by a dispute over sauce. So there you have it, forego civil war, eat mustard base.

Sawpit's sauce was decent, but not great. Keep at it. Their Colorado Peach sauce was interesting, but ultimately not something I'd put on my barbeque.

In Placerville, I caught 62 over to the 550, then dropped south to Ouray. The majestic Colorado peaks stood strongly in the low lying clouds, creating a beautiful scene.

I stopped for fuel in Ouray and saw quite a few bikes go past, then when I was heading out of town, they were all coming back and flagging me down. Turns out Red Mountain Pass, the only way out of Ouray excepting the northern route I had entered upon, was closed for road construction. In a wild stroke of genius by CODOT, the pass was closed from 8AM-12PM and from 1PM-5PM. It was about 3PM and I had wanted to make it to Pagosa Springs, CO that night yet.

I rode back into town and found several Goldwings parked on the main drag, so I pulled in and we talked a while. One guy was all wound up and stressed out about having to wait, while his friend was taking it easy and telling him to enjoy the town since we were all stuck here anyhow. I walked up the street just wandering around when I came upon these bikes:

I knew there had to be a good story behind this. It turns out that these crazy people riding Honda C90's all over the western world were Rachel Lasham and Ed March. From England, they flew their bikes to Anchorage, Alaska then riding up to Prudhoe Bay, meanwhile riding the northernmost and westernmost road in the Americas. They then decided to head east to the easternmost road, riding across Canada in the winter, then down the east coast and from NC to Ouray on the TAT, an offroad trail. They are planning to head to Argentina. Hardcore. These are real riders, people.

We talked for a little while, and I lost track of time until I saw the Goldwing guys all rolling out of town to get in line to get over the pass. It was about 4:30, so I headed up after a bit. While waiting in miles of traffic, I got off the bike and walked back to a group of riders behind me and we struck up a conversation. The rider community is great that way. I can't get out of a car in a traffic jam and just converse with fellow drivers, but on a bike, we're all brothers. Traffic finally stated moving about 5:10 so I ran back to the bike and proceeded on to Silverton. So much traffic.

It took forever. From Ouray to Silverton is roughly 23 miles. It took me a little over 2 hours to traverse that distance. I pulled off in Silverton in hopes the traffic would disperse, but after waiting a while, trafffic failed to wane much, so back into the gridlock I went, heading for Durango on what's been referred to as Colorado's most scenic drive. Reaching over 12,000 feet with no guardrails, blind corners, semis and construction mud that's slippery as eel snot all over the road, what could go wrong?

It would have been much more enjoyable with less traffic and more daylight, but it was still pretty incredible.

I don't really have any good pictures because of having to deal with traffic on wet roads and there were no pull offs. The old mining equipment around Red Mountain was fascinating and I really hope to go back someday.

I found things getting really foggy, or was that smoke? Then the smell. You don't have to be a mechanic to immediately recognize the pungent odour of hot brakes. Not over easy, but well done, burnt even. I rode in that hot metal smell and smoky haze for almost 12 miles before the driver finally saw flames coming from the trailer brakes of the generator he was pulling.

Traffic was slow. How slow, you ask? At one point, I pulled in my clutch and kept up with traffic for 5.6 miles solely relying on the propulsion of gravitational pull. I arrived in Durango right at nightfall, and as I had planned to be further down the road, I had no hotel lined up. I finally found one that was cheap and had a vacancy, so I parked, unloaded, and walked next door to Zia's Taquiera next door. I like Chipotle, but this place blows the socks off Chipotle. Great food, reasonable price, locally sourced ingredients, the whole works. My burrito was excellent.

What a day! Took some punches from Mother Nature, rolled with them, met some great people on the road, saw some beautiful sights, ate some great food and arrived safely. What more could I ask?

[Ultimatevfr]

Awesome write up, I remember how the whole family would groan when Dad wanted to have a "slide" show of our trip pictures (showing my age here) Dude got to tell you , I love every minute reading about your trip , good job.

[Dutchy]

put me into Bryce Canyon National Park. I wasn't sure what to expect, I hadn't researched it at all, but it came highly recommended.

I reckon all the pre-reading and especially pre-viewing pictures and youtube videos available spoils "the moment" of manier place

It will only get worse, as will be the number of people only "seeing" things through their Ipad screens when they are actually there....

Och well..... next installment please!

[SCguy]

Staying at motels costs considerably more than camping. By following logic, if one pays more for a night's sleep, one should make the most of that night of sleep. That was my game plan, however, things weren't as restful as I had hoped. I was awoken at 7 something AM to the sounds of loud screaming coming from the next room over. The paper thin walls did little to dampen the echoing wails. Having determined that I was not currently an auditory witness to some form of murder, I tracked the source to the housekeeping staff going room to room at 7 AM playing screamo death metal at volumes loud enough to resonate the wooden teeth straight out of George Washington's mouth. Thankfully, the resonant frequency for my window was not chanced upon. Another day.

The goal of the day was to replace my front tire, which was rapidly approaching the point of needing Sharpie-drawn tread. I left out of Durango, heading east on US 160. Once in Pagosa Springs, a flash of blue at a Harley shop caught my eye, and I turned around to find, amidst a sea of black and chrome, a mostly stock Honda CB1. Really neat little bike with the 400cc inline-4. Much too small for me however.

Not taking much time to sightsee, I then turned onto US 84 and headed southward. Colorado soon gave way to New Mexico.

Somewhere south of Los Ojos, the sky darkened and rain began to fall. I sped up and pressed on, hoping to outrun it. It actually worked! I got into the gap between the two rain fronts.

Forgive the terrible panorama, but here's a view of the gap into which I managed to find myself.

Kind of wild how the rain just stops abruptly at the edges. I loved the contrast between the bright blue sky ahead of me and the black rain clouds on either side.

After letting the rain pass a bit, back on the road I headed. I had called quite a few places in Santa Fe looking for a tire before it became apparent that I would have to ride to Cycle Gear in Albuquerque if I wanted a tire that day. I missed out on some good riding, but I really need to prioritize that tire.

Arriving in Santa Fe, I took 14 over to Albuquerque, arriving at Cycle Gear about an hour and a half before closing time. When I went to buy the new front tire (Michelin Pilot Power 3 2CT), they told me to pick up the tire the next day. Apparently, they have a 24 hour turnaround time on mounting a tire.

So here I was, in the middle of Albuquerque, the sun setting, needing to make a decision. Tear the bike down and hope they could get it done before closing? Walk to a hotel, buy a room and wait for the next day? Buy the tire and strap it to the bike to install the next day somewhere down the road? No good options. I chose to risk it and tear the bike down in the parking lot. I'm getting better at teardown, as I had the wheel off in 7 minutes. Of course, the only person who does tires leaves on her lunch break (after 5PM) as soon as I get the wheel in. I went to a Subway for supper to distract me from worrying about whether I could get back on the road that night or not. I was trying not to let it get to me, but at that point, I was pretty stressed. They really could have mentioned the 24 hour turnaround when I called them from Pagosa Springs.

I walked back to the store five minutes before closing, and sure enough, they were just wrapping it up. I paid, threw the wheel back on, torqued everything down and decided to make up for some lost time by riding Interstate at night. I made it to Santa Rosa, 115 miles down the road before I decided to call it a night. It hadn't been a great day of riding, hardly even a good day, but I accomplished that which I had intended. So, in that sense, it was a good day.

[E-Ticket]

hey .... no tickets, no crashes, no fatalities. That's always a good day.

Thanks for the updates, boss. They're making me pretty itchy to get back on the road for a big ride.

Cheers!

[SCguy]

Forgot to mention that in New Mexico near Los Ojos, I passed a red 5th gen, 2 up, Givi sidecases, riders in full gear. Anybody from here?

[marriedman]

Forgot to mention that in New Mexico near Los Ojos, I passed a red 5th gen, 2 up, Givi sidecases, riders in full gear. Anybody from here?

Sounds like you need to post that on Craigslist in the "Missed Encounters" section.

[Switchblade]

Forgot to mention that in New Mexico near Los Ojos, I passed a red 5th gen, 2 up, Givi sidecases, riders in full gear. Anybody from here?

Sounds like you need to post that on Craigslist in the "Missed Encounters" section.

?

[zedXmick]

Thanks for the great ride report. I had my first big solo ride out west back in 1987 and I was 24 at the time. Your report brought back a lot of great memories.

[SCguy]

The Motel 6 parking lot was empty, prime for soaking up rays from the sun which crept higher into the sky whilst giving light and warmth to all below. Route 66 was mostly devoid of traffic minus the occasional local farm truck. The bike was where I left her, loaded, freshly shod with new rubber and ready for a long day of traveling. I swung a leg over the saddle, thumbed the starter, and the Honda awoke from her slumber, eager to devour the miles which lay ahead, flat and straight. The easiest prey, yet taxing on the rider, offering few challenges save for fighting off the constant scourge of boredom. The game was afoot.

Nosing out on ol' Rt. 66, I wondered why I hadn't planned to ride more of the iconic highway. Three miles westward, I turned back south, leaving Rt. 66 for another day down the road, when I could do it jsutice. While hardly comparable to traversing the sum of the remaining stretches of America's most storied road, I did ride on it for 3 miles, so that's got to count for something, right?

The day was cloudless, exceedingly bright, and oh-so-still. For miles I rode, passing no-one, and seemingly nothing. I'm sure there was life out there somewhere, but it was not making itself known as I motored down the road, reaching into the horizon as straight as a snake in a full body cast.

Traversing such desolate terrain leads to some interesting thoughts. First, the enjoyment of total solitude. You can really get a feel for what it would be like to be alone in the world, even if only for an hour. After a while, you begin to grow a bit uneasy, straining your eyesight for a farmhouse, a tractor, shoot, a cow, even. After miles more of bountiful nothingness, there comes a bit of anxiousness to spy evidence that humankind still exists; a gas station, a family-laden station wagon with strains of “Great Big Globs of Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts” wafting from the open windows, even a tourist trap for the world's largest crocheted loincloth.

It is in these times that, despite assertions to the otherwise, one really admits that they do crave a little human socializing. It's what drives the lone rider to stop at the first fuel stop that materialized upon the horizon to strike up conversation with the dusty proprietor and whomever might straggle into the wayside station.

In a way, people seem to be drawn to a lone rider, especially once they notice a very out of state license plate, prompting questions. The same questions. Always. Three questions. I refer to them as the Travel Trio.

“You from South Carolina?”

“You ride that thing all the way out here?”

“Boy, I bet your butt's sore, isn't it?”

Those three. Always those three. Most ask more questions, some stick with just the tried and true Travel Trio. Despite their concern for my posterior, the Laam seat was doing a fantastic job. Very comfortable.

Enough about that, back on the road...

Things got interesting for a little while as I observed a PT Cruiser flat towing a 4WD Explorer and a Dodge Stratus flat towing a Grand Caravan. Maybe it's just a mechanic thing, but I got a kick out of seeing what could be the two most unlikely tow rigs created struggling to transport their larger brethren. Knowing Chrysler's, there were two transmissions lost in the line of duty that day, going above and beyond anything the manufacturers dreamed would be thrown at them. A moment of silence, as I pour a little ATF+4 out to commemorate the brave sacrifice of these unlikely beasts of burden. (Like I said, it's a mechanic thing, if you don't get it, it won't make sense even if I explain it to you)

I rolled into Roswell around lunchtime. I chose Big D's Downtown Dive, with a scrawled sign out front boasting “the famous World's worst parking.” No problem for two wheels. I had the crispy pork belly sandwich and sweet potato fries, which were excellent. Air conditioning was also a welcome luxury as I ate, overlooking my humble steed, Vanessa, languishing in the New Mexico heat just outside.

Back outside, I kept my eyes peeled for either a flying saucer or black Suburbans to whisk away anyone who might have seen said UFO. Neither appeared, only empty road once more. Continuing through Carlsbad (oh, for more time to see the caverns), I ran US 285 down through Pecos and into Fort Stockton, Texas.

This stretch is simply the worst road I have ever had the displeasure of riding. It runs smack-dab through the oil field, meaning dry, dusty conditions abound, trucks pulling out right in front of you, strong crosswinds, heavy truck traffic, and to top it all off, some of the worst pavement I've ever seen in America. I'm talking about potholes that bypassed being kettleholes and jumped straight to cauldron holes. I could just hear TXDOT incanting, “Double, double, toil and trouble, pavement crack and asphalt crumble.” The whole scene was almost post-apocalyptic, what with burned shells of vehicles left on the roadside. It was also the only time I've ridden over 100 miles without seeing a vehicle that wasn't painted white. I kept looking down at the Viffer to make sure that other colors still existed in the harsh, drab, monotonous landscape in which I found myself.

Seriously, when you feel like you've won the road lottery by merging onto I-10, you know you've just come from something unspeakable. Miles piled on quickly, and I swung off the road in Sonora to find a cheap motel and crash. It's a good thing I like Spanish music, because that's all I heard booming from the parking lot party that spilled into the adjacent room until 1 AM. Buenas noches, gentlemen.

[checksix]

A pleasure to read, as always.