West 2002
 
 

Day 13

August 6

 
 

Since I'm traveling by my lonesome, I sleep until I wake up this morning. I also decide since my hands are getting progressively worse that I will motel it the rest of the way home. The stress of packing and unpacking the gear has exacted a price on my inflamed hands and I know I need to conserve them as much as I can. Nothing looks good to me in Mammoth Lakes for breakfast, so I figure I'll stop at the next interesting town. As the temperatures start to rise, I start to swap to my summer riding gloves. I discover that my wallet and my mind isn't the only thing that I lost on the road yesterday. Knowing it will only be getting warmer as I work my way across Nevada, I spy a motorcycle shop just opening up as I ride into Bishop. Fortunately, they have a pretty good selection for a small shop so I ask one of the guys –

“Which ones would you recommend for summer riding?”

“I use those Joe Rockets – they're really well ventilated” he offers.

I check them out, they have them in my size, so I take his advice.

“While I'm at it, where would a feller eat breakfast around here?” I ask him.

His answer was quick – “Ain't but one place – Jacks, right down the road, you can't miss it. I eat there all the time.” 		 
 
 
  I thank him and head for the bike. After the events of yesterday and no supper, I've worked up quite an appetite. And Jack's is up to the billing that he gave. Open since 1946, the food is great and the service wonderful. I like a restaurant where the waitress treats you like an old friend that she's glad to see. Checking my maps, I know I've got a long way to go if I plan to end up in Utah by the end of the day. Nevada is a pretty big place, but I decide I don't want to go through Las Vegas and take a chance on getting caught in traffic. Then I see it on the map – “The Extraterrestrial Highway”, highway 375. Hmm, wonder if any of Spock's kinfolks live near it? It will be a bit out of the way, but I determine that I will run it in honor of Spock and that is reason enough. As I move along along the road, I come to a sign that I just really hate.  
 
 
  Ah, sharp curves, steep grades and no large vehicles - tough place to ride, but I think I might just be able to handle it. As I enter the Inyo National Forest, I see a sign for the ancient bristlecone forest – the oldest living plants on earth. I know it will take me out of the way, but I have no one to suit but myself and only a hotel room waits for me at the end. I follow the twisting roadbed to the top of the mountains to see these ancient trees. They just look like scrub pine trees to me, but the road is great and now I've seen them for myself.  
 
 
 

I hurry back down the mountain, enjoying the winding road and the lack of traffic. Soon I'm in Nevada and realize that I will be for most of the day. As I pull into Tonopah, I figure I had better watch my gas closely out here in the land of barren spaces. As I'm taking a break, the girl running the place asks -

“Where are you from?”

“Reckon I'm from Tennessee. Been out to California and a few other places and now I'm sorta headed for the house” I tell her.

“You rode a motorcycle all the way from Tennessee?” she asks with disbelief in her eyes.

“ Yep, and I reckon I'll have to ride it back!” I add.

I'm always amazed at people's reactions about long distance riding but it's not unusual. I guess most folks have never seen much of the world from the open air. There's a real interesting building across the street, so I get a shot of it just for grins. 		 
 
 
 

An SUV with a bunch of young guys pulls up and gases up. One of them wanders over to check out the ST.

“Nice bike you've got there” he says.

“Well, thank you. Been on the road a while and it's a bit dirty, though.” I add.

We chat a few moments then I realize time is slipping away.

“Well, I guess I'd better be going, cause nothing waits on the open road!” I tell him as I mount up.

And what an open road it is – no traffic, just long straight stretches.

 
 
 
  Most of the day I travel close to triple digits letting the ST eat up the barren road. When I hit a long stretch as far as the eye can see, I decide I'll just open her plumb up and see what she will do. I realize with the river bag strapped crossways, wind resistance will get interesting, but I'll give it a chance. The needle climbs quickly to 110, then slowly to 120, 125, 130, 135 and then the wall – where wind resistance overcomes the power of the engine. It's almost as if you are standing still in a sense. I ease back off the throttle, satisfied that I have set a new record for someone on a ST with a riverbag and top trunk attached. Finally I see the sign that I have been looking for.  
 
 
 

As I travel down the Extraterrestrial Highway I approach a little town call Rachel. A construction flagman is sitting on the roadside, obviously bored out of his wits.

“Not much traffic out here. I bet you get a bit bored out here on this road, don't you?” I ask with a grin.

“Yeah, I do, but it's a job” he answers.

“You staying in town at night?” I ask.

“Yep, and there are some really weird folks that live there. Gives me the spooks!” he replies.

My time comes to go, so he escorts me into town. I spy a little store and gas station – “The Quik-Pik” on the right and decide to take advantage of it, not knowing where the next one will be. 		 
 
 
 

I pull in, fill up the thirsty ST, and walk inside. As I pay up, I notice the fellow behind the counter has a familiar accent.

“Where you originally from?” I ask him.

“Well, I grew up in Humboldt, Tennessee. Daddy got asthma, so we found some cheap land out here and starting farming and running this store” he offers.

We both laugh when I tell him I'm from Nashville about 120 miles east. It still amazes me how small the world can really be sometimes. We chat a bit about growing up in Tennessee and I'm on my way again. I ease on down 375 to pick up 93 that will take me to Interstate 15 and St. George, Utah. The scenery out here still amazes me because it is so different that what I see back home - not better just different. 		 
 
 
  After enjoying the backroads all day, I don't look forward to the slab, but out here the road choices are often slim. This route has barely missed Las Vegas and I am glad of that. The slab takes me quickly to the Utah border and I pull into a motel called “The Bluffs”. There's a steak house nearby called the “Claim Jumper” so this will do right nicely. I wash the dust and heat off of the day and head for some dead cow.  
 
 
  What a day it has been – peaceful with time enough for mulling over where I am and where I'm going. It does not prepare me however, for the chilling reality that I will confront tomorrow.