| Author | Message | ||
     Court |
>>>Court, allow me to borrow one of your best lines? "Folks, i LIVE for stuff like this." As do those of us, hudled round the cyber camp fire, listening to the tale. You've painted many pictures, dusted off some and finished others. In our minds, we're there . . Well done, Court | ||
| Pdxs3t  |
As do those of us, hudled round the cyber camp fire, listening to the tale. You've painted many pictures, dusted off some and finished others. In our minds, we're there . . Well done, Wonderfuly said Court! | ||
| Unibear12r |
And to think I was invited to take a part in this journey. Sadly the current status of my life didn't allow me to make even one day of it. Wow, what a ride. Some day I would love to do something like this. Thanks for taking the time to share it with us Jerry. | ||
| Jerry_haughton  |
thanks Court, and i concur with Pdx Jim.  And to think I was invited to take a part in this journey. and you DID take part...  ...remember??? Glenn, you've been an awesome friend in the very short time me 'n D have known you, and it was cool that you took the time to come up that night and help us kick this thing off. | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. ok, i think i have cleverly figured out a way to sneak a coupla old pix in here, since there's not many fresh ones left from this trip to show. Dino, you'll recall this photo location on Highway 6 just east of Tonopah from Day 1...  ...and you regulars that have been riding along since the beginning will recall the "solo" shot i took at the same spot early the following morning...  ...with both photos looking east across a small taste of Nevada's Great Basin. somewhere Out There JB2 has got his feed bag on, Iron Butt'n his way to Colorado to meet me. anyway, at approximately noon on THIS fine day i was back at this very intersection yet again. the pavement you see pointing left (north) in the two pix above is the southern terminus of Nevada Hwy 376, and it had been on mine and Dino's agenda on Day 1, that is until the massive wall of water you see in the first shot above changed our minds and we decided to get all intimate and cozy with Tonopah instead. i needed to log some significant miles yet today, and 376 - otherwise known as the Big Smoky Valley - got the nod. Dino and i had asked around about 376 on our initial tour of Tonopah, wondering if - as the word "valley" in the title might suggest - there were any curves to be found in its length. "No" was the simple, unanimous answer. still, the road had been inviting then, as it was now, especially since i needed to pad the 'Strom's odo a bit more before i rounded third and headed for home. (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 05, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. well, the Big Smoky Valley is indeed big, and without question a valley, but was rather clear today, minus all the "Smoky" stuff, which was fine with me. (it appears, if my research is right, that smoke from any sort of significant wildfire in the central California region will inevitably make it way here - something to due with the combination of geography and prevailing winds - and then hang around for awhile before finally dispersing.) for those of you who've never ridden thru the wilds of Nevada, i'm not sure i know how to convey the wide-open vastness of its wide-open vastness. it seems, at times, that the longer you ride toward the far distant horizon, the farther and more distant the horizon becomes. the BSV was all this and more, intimately bordered as it is by two rather impressive mountain ranges - the Toiyabe Mountains to the west (including Arc Dome at a stately 11,773 feet) and the Toquima Mountains to the east (which includes the even statelier Mt. Jefferson at 11,949 feet). running right up the middle is a ribbon of road with straight-aways of a massive scale, so much so that at one point i was tempted to take my third photo of the day, of a large sign warning of a gentle, nearly imperceptable kink in the road. lest it sound like the BSV wasn't for me, actually i dug the heck out of it, for several reasons. first, it was allowing me to rack up the miles without having to back-track on a road i'd already ridden recently, an exercise that usually leaves me cold. second, the sheer empty magnificence of the scenery was entertaining and almost overwhelming. again, if you've never been assimilated by Nevada before, it may be hard to understand. this road kept going, and going, and going... ..and soon i was in a rhythm, one hand on the controls, all kicked back and relaxed, with the speedo registering a pretty consistent buck-twenty or so. at this pace the 'Strom's fairing did a pretty good job of creating a comfortable, relaxed office environment, the leggy v-twin downstairs in "Shipping" equally contented and productive, and our isolated business location - far from the mamn daddening crowds - giving me confidence that the nearest law enforcement was likely several counties away. (with the added benefit that most counties in Nevada are larger than most STATES back East.) periodically, when i would spy the occasional cage on the horizon, i'd drop back to a less offensive clip, say 80 or so, until the car passed, and then engage my mental "resume" feature and whoosh back into the trip-didge territory again. and yes, you're absolutely correct: by the time i'd see a car and reduce my forward momentum somewhat i would've already been toast of the radar-ish kind had the car in question been the fuzz, but you'd need to have actually BEEN there to fully appreciate how dislocated this country is, and there was no earthly reason for anyone packing a radar gun and a badge to be prowling around out here. i rode this way, somewhere in the general vicinity of Warp Factor III (those wacky Romans...), for what seemed an eternity. no Smoky, but considerable Valley, and a giant helping of Big. ride on. (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 05, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. and then my advanced case of speed poisoning very nearly got me into serious trouble. the north end of the BSV runs into Nevada Hwy 50, aka The Loneliest Road in America. hard to imagine anything lonelier than the hundred or so miles i'd just molested, but i've ridden 50 before, and i'm not about to argue. at 50 i needed to turn left and head west again. the plan was to stop in Austin to get fuel, consult the map, and come up with a rough guesstimate as to how many more miles i needed - i was, i thought, FINALLY getting close to the point that i could pull the trigger and lock Death Valley into my coordinates. as i turned onto 50 and clicked up thru the gears, a wonderful sight befell my weary eyes: CORNERS!!! after what had seemed like an eternity of curvaceous mellowness TOTALLY out of character for your humble scribe (the last time i'd really explored the edges of my tires was way back on Push Mountain with Racerboy), the road ahead made my palms sweat. my turn to the west had put me in direct defiance of the Toiyabe Mountains - the very same mountains that i'd been paralleling almost since Tonopah - and Hwy 50 had but one choice: go up and OVER. which meant corners, blessed, wonderful corners, and without a second's hesitation i was tucked down and powered up, back and forth and peg-to-peg, positively giddy as i devoured this unexpected, delicious treat. ride to lean, bubba - the rest is just filler. the process i described in the last several paragraphs actually took place in the matter of several milliseconds - i don't like to waste a good road, and i certainly wasn't asking any questions. and, in honor of the fact that i'd just ridden over a hundred miles at go-directly-to-jail velocities, ripping up THIS road at a similar pace seemed entirely normal and necessary. speed poisoning at its best, with only one known cure. and so JUST when i got up a good head of steam... ...a terrorizing apparition appeared, around a corner and on top of me in an instant, the dreaded and unmistakable and horridly hideous vision of the Nevada Highway Patrol, bearing down on me at a closing speed estimated to be in excess of 200 miles per hour. and he was lit up like the 4th of July. i've said it before, and i'll say it again: DAMMIT JIM! heartbeat. CRAP! heart...beat. ••••!! beat, heart. ••••!!! while my ticker got all arrhythmic, and my mind went to mush, my instincts shouted, "GRAB A HANDFUL OF BRAKE, DUMAS, AND SLOW THIS SONSABITCH DOWN!!!" which i did, knowing i was already meat. then my instincts had a bright, if desperate, idea. it's pretty obvious, reasoned my instincts, that an oncoming motorcycle's headlight is a dead giveaway when said motorcycle stabs an enormous load of front brake, said headlight dropping straight to the pavement as the forks compress to the stops. my instincts said that the NHP officer directly on top of me would see this phenomenon and know immediately what my game was, never minding the fact that his dash-mounted radar certainly already KNEW what my game was. as stated, however, my instincts were desperate at this point, and i was engaged in an intense, fierce firefight to prolong the health of my aging driver's license. so, reasoned my instincts, i'm gonna snap on my right turn signal - to indicate for all the world my honorable intentions - and boogie on outta his way, with the front tire skittering on the verge of lockup, assuming that i could later argue, "No, officer, I wasn't trying to slow down in such dramatic fashion to avoid your mighty wrath, I was simply trying to slow down in such dramatic fashion entirely as a courtesy to YOU, my big, strapping, gun-toting friend (may I call you “friend”?), as you were OBVIOUSLY heading somewhere ELSE (er, right?)in a humonstrous, official hurry!" sigh. i'm such a polite, considerate law breaker. and i am SO screwed. dammit Jim. (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 05, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. and then a most amazing thing happened: he WAS heading somewhere else, apparently, as he slowed down not an iota, every light he owned strobing madly like there was no tomorrow. in about three more dangerously tachycardic heartbeats - ka BOOM! KA boom!! KA!!! BOOM!!! - he was gone... ...BUT... not before he presented an image that will stay etched in my memory banks forever. as he flashed by - me nearly stopped, he still at speed - there appeared in his windshield the visage of a giganteus, angry man, red-faced and obviously shouting, accompanied by an equally giganteus forearm, hand and forefinger - the forearm and hand pumping vigorously up and down, the finger pointing to his dashboard - all unmistakable indications that i had just been a Very Bad Boy. yeah? tell me something i DON'T know, Holmes. and yet, as bad as i'd been, he was gone. i pondered my brush with mortality for a moment. SOMETHING east of here has his attention, obviously, enough so that i'd likely just avoided a ride in the back of his car. however... ...however, i knew that Officer Angry certainly has a radio, and i knew in my dark little heart that he was putting it to good use at this very instant. one could argue that the odds of another "Nhippie" being this far out in the boons were pretty long, to which i might ordinarily agree. on the other hand, Hwy 50's rapid ascent/descent of Austin and the Toiyabe's represents not only the entire blip of civilization within several zip codes, but also the only curves worthy of mention for a similar distance. thus, i figgered, THIS is gonna be where they make their living, and i knew deep down in my withering soul that he had back-up nearby. it wasn't a hunch on my part, or an idle fear. from all my years of riding, and honing what few survival skills i possess, i KNEW, beyond a black shadow of a doubt, that he had a partner - by now probably red-faced and angry, too - pointed my direction. i snapped out of my daze and hit the road. yes, still west toward Austin - it's the only fuel for several parsecs - and i'll be jiggered if i didn't wick it up again! alas, some things are simply beyond my ability to comprehend or control, and in the end this juicy little chunk of twisting tarmac got exactly what it deserved, incarceration be damned. several minutes later i was in the rustic little town of Austin, a quiet, tiny Old West mining community carved right out of the mountainside. i pulled up to the gas station, nervous and anxious, sweating profusely. need to make this quick, i thought. after i pumped gas i pushed the bike around to the side of the station and tried to hide it behind a parked car. alas, when i came back from paying the car was gone, and the 'Strom - all aglow in its livery of IH blue and Hi-Vis yellow (making it one of the most immediately-recognizable machines plying today's highways) - shone brightly in the mid-afternoon sun, a beacon for all the world - or, at least, Nhippie #2 - to see. i fired up the bike, banged it into gear, and hid. really. i hid. i rode UP three streets, OVER two more streets, and hid behind an old building. i'm not exaggerating in the slightest when i tell you that i was now on the lam - i KNEW "he" was out there, looking for the black and yellow motorcycle, and as Kenny Roberts hasn't ridden one with this color scheme in some time, the only other bike in this part of the Western US so INSTANTLY identifiable would, then, have to be mine. i couldn't see the highway from where i was, but i could HEAR it - Austin is a small town. i was listening for the sound of high-speed hide and seek. i drank some water, tried to calm myself down, and pored over my map, pondering options. as far as getting out of Dodge, there were exactly two: one way in, one way out. NEITHER seemed particularly palatable at this point. after 15 minutes or so, and still no sound of heat, i knew i had to suck it up and go. i had too many miles to burn yet today to be stuck HERE, and by now Denise was probably half way to Death Valley. i wove my way thru Austin's narrow little streets and climbed back on the highway, as skittish as can be, obeying the speed limits as i left town (25, then 35, then 45) T.O. T.H.E. F.R.I.K.K.I.N. L.E.T.T.E.R. i cast furtive glances down every side street, alternatively covering my mirrors and studying the lonely road ahead. every nerve ending in my body knew "he" was close. i KNEW. it wasn't a matter of IF, it was only a matter of WHERE. | ||
| Court |
I love it...I love it....terror on "America's Lonliest Highway". The first time I rode Highway 50 on a Buell was 14 years ago taking a leisurely trip to check on a construction project at Arden Fair Mall. My "fun" was having the stopwatch on the dash and timing the intervals between cars. The road begs you to do, as you point out, as close to 200MPH as you can, providing something like 412 miles of forward visibility. Yet, each time my speed creeps up, I am certain that a mini-NHP droid about 3cm tall will emerge from behind a rock. To those in the area, who have not ridden this road, it's a MUST! Straight sections of about 40 miles separated with ascent-descents over the mountains. Ferris...please don't get home! Court | ||
| Dino  |
...will our hero escape Nevada with his license intact, or will the nasty "Nhippies" throw his aging ••• in the dungeon of the desert. Tune in again next week, same time, same channel, for the exciting conclusion to this program, The Life and Times of Strom Bueller. (Message edited by dino on December 05, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. there IS, i suppose, a certain synchronicity to where he was hiding. on the west edge of town, just as you straighten out and can see again to the far horizon - thus in a setting that says "Giddyup and let's effin' GO!" yet is still marked 45 mph - the Loneliest Highway dissects the town cemetery, and that's where the Ambush at the V-Strom Corral occurred. or WOULD have occurred, had i not been minding my manners so trepiditiously. yep, there HE was, radar gun in hand, waiting. Officer Angry's brother wasn't making it easy, as he was actually tucked away just around the corner and out of sight on Hwy 305, which leaves 50 west of Austin and heads north toward Battle Mountain and Interstate 80. tucked outta sight he mighta been, but he had a clear line-of-sight for his ray gun, which was pointed right at the cemetery. as i said, the conditions are such that a person with their guard down might likely put the whip to their horse right at the old graveyard - there's little to spook your steed at this point and it's a long, long ways to Reno. i figure many a driver's license has taken a hit in this boneyard. fitting, in a perverse sort of way. so, for the good news, i was locked on the posted speed limit like it was my first day of Rider's Ed. the bad news, of course, was that i HADN'T been quite so innocent on the other side of town when Nhippie #1 whizzed by, and i had no reason to think that Nhippie #2 needed to actually catch me "in the act" to dole out some expensive, time-consuming punishment. worse yet, i needed to explore Hwy 305 my OWN bad self, as i had to add another 100 miles or so to the ride before i could think about starting my final run toward Death Valley and Denise. as a consequence of this decision i had to ride literally right in front of Nhippie #2 as i made my turn onto 305. no sir, i did NOT turn my head and face my adversary - it was EYES FRONT! and rigid at attention, trying desperately to squeeze out every ounce of innocence and forthrightness from my atrophic little pores as i slithered by. i'm convinced that real fear is palpable and tangible and sometimes even almost visible, a substance that could be scientifically measured with the right device. a "fearometer"? i can assure you that as i rode right across the bow of Nhippie #2, as righteously and benignly as Ferrisly possible, i was absolutely GLOWING with fear, so thick you could SMELL it, so PUNGENT it HURT. goodbye, kewl world. i wondered if i'd at least get one last phone call. Nhippie #2 never moved. not a quiver. as i motored away on 305, ever so mindful of the posted limit, i watched my mirrors with incredulous eyes, waiting for my world to explode in a shrieking crescendo of red and blue and feet back and spread 'em! nothing. it would be appropriate here, i believe, to re-use two terms from a slightly earlier narrative: i was gobsmacked and dumbstruck. for the next 20 miles or so, as the high desert welcomed it's wayward little problem child back for another round, i was glued to my mirrors, certain that at any second the full fury of the Nevada Highway Patrol would come crashing down around my ears, but the moment of reckoning never came. i was, again, alone. i have a theory as to why i'm not pecking out this little melodrama from a Reno jail cell. before he went into the Army, my son Wade spent several years as a California Highway Patrol Explorer, and has done dozens of CHP "ride-alongs." he has told me amazing stories of chivalry and gallantry beyond the call of duty when it comes to the Chippies and how they go about their business, as it seems that most prefer to PERSONALLY catch you in the act, with some of the more noble ones even eschewing the use of their radar, preferring instead to pace from a distance, high stakes cat and mouse, sometimes nabbing their victim “fair and square", other times the prey wiggling off the hook, but all part of the game. altho i'm not sure there was any chivalry or gallantry at work here, it's the only reason i can think of for skating away from what would have otherwise been a very messy train wreck. it was a long time before i purged the “Escape from Austin City Limits” from my mind, and in just a bit... ...i had to turn right around and go back there again. i've said it before, and i'll say it again: the things i do to entertain you people. (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 05, 2004) | ||
| Pdxs3t |
Can't wait to see and read what the 2nd season will offer us! | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
Ferris...please don't get home! sorry Court, it's just around the corner. Tune in again next week, same time, same channel, for the exciting conclusion to this program, The Life and Times of Strom Bueller. that'd be Stromis Bueller, my friend. Can't wait to see and read what the 2nd season will offer us! what, no reruns??? | ||
| Unibear12r |
Ouch, my bad Jerry! Yet again I have misspoke myself! Seems so long ago. True, that was a GREAT time at the send off. Just that I was thinking along two wheel lines is all.  A humorous run in with the Nhippies there Ferris. I'd bet your right in that he never even picked up his mic to call in on you. But... Rest assured you were a hot topic for single conversation for the rest of his code 3 run... And over coffee with a bunch of uniforms later... Remind me to keep a safe distance behind you if I ever follow you into Nevada again!  | ||
| Dino |
BTW, FB, did we really let those few lil ol' fluffy clouds dissuade us?!? What pussies! Woulda been good seasoning for ya to get you ready for riding in those hurricanes...whoops, I meant tropical depressions! (Message edited by dino on December 05, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
Unibear, you'll recall our border crossing into Utah with Alex and Bart and FMJ and crew during the RANE Ride? remember our impromptu little canyon ballet on I-15? it was at this very moment that you should have realized that riding with ME is good for generating stories for the cyber-campfire. (it's all Court's fault - before i met him i was relatively norml... ) Dino, yeah, can't believe we turned back. sure seemed like the right idea at the time, tho, didn't it? btw, i believe the pix of the three boys in Tonopah was taken outside the restaurant where we had dinner on the night we were there. | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. as i said, i would soon need to ride thru Austin again, but first i had to do some serious backtracking, never one of my favorite pastimes, but necessary to keep pushing the odometer onward. i wasn't "technically" backtracking, i suppose, as these miles were coming via the aforementioned Hwy 305, a road i'd not yet had the pleasure of spanking on this trip. on the other hand, i WAS headed toward Battle Mountain, Nevada, centrally-located between Elko and Winnemucca on Interstate 80, a destination that was strangely familiar. if you happen to be following along on a map (which is easy enough to do in Nevada - there ain’t many roads to clutter things up) you'll recognize that i'm completing a gigantic loop and am about to end up right back where i started this morning. which, at this point, seems like SUCH a long time ago. it's worth mentioning a couple of things. first, i had no GPS or other such electronic wizardry guiding my way and calculating my remaining miles, using instead paper maps from AAA and taking their word as to the mileage from point A to point B to points D and DV. second, i had been on the road quite long enough, thank you. at this stage of the game all i wanted to do was get to Denise, and get home, in that order. that i needed 7500 miles to legally enter California tonight was acceptable, but i had neither the energy or desire to ride even ONE mile further than necessary, and all my painstaking mileage calculations today were done with that premise in mind. none of this is to say that i wasn't thoroughly enjoying the day - even after three weeks on the road it was all still a grand adventure - but if i could hit the Cali border tonight with EXACTLY 7500 miles, well, that was the goal. all this said, then, i was using Hwy 305 this fine afternoon to pad my miles, and knew i didn't need to go QUITE to Interstate 80, but also knew that if i turned around "prematurely" i'd be making up miles somewhere later in the day, probably in the dark, and probably with an attitude. my little skirmish back in Austin had cost me the opportunity to call Denise and check in, and i was a little nervous for the both of us - her ride to Death Valley on her new SV was a Big Deal and would put her right in the middle of some of the most foreboding country this country has to offer, and it was important, to both of us, that i check in as often as i could today to keep us apprised of our mutual progress. Hwy 305 is like most other thoroughfares in Nevada: there's nothing there. literally nothing. barren, remote, desolate, isolated, devoid, and any number of other similar adjectives in the thesaurus. so i was quite surprised to come across a pay telephone (no cell signal out here, bubba). in all my travels i've never seen a pay phone in a more incongruous spot, surrounded by a pit toilet and sagebrush and very little else. truly one of the darndest things i've ever seen. it was right about the point i sensed i needed to turn around ANYWAY, so it seemed like a good place to pore over the map again and double-check mileage. plus (if the phone even worked, that is), it'd give me an opportunity to check-in with Denise. it DID work, and via voice mail i discovered that Denise was now comfortably ensconced in air-conditioned splendor at the Furnace Creek Inn and Ranch. COOL! i tried to reach her and advise as to my present location ( "I'm in BFE, sweety!" ) but the lady at the front desk was having some "technical difficulties", so i asked her to leave a message for D on my behalf. ok, so there's a pretty good chunk of load off my mind, and the knowledge that Denise was safely waiting for me in DV was exhilarating. i studied my map. holy smokes, i've still got such a long ways to go. best git to gittin', son. i fired up the scoot, rotated it 180 degrees, and began the long-awaited final push to home. but FIRST i had to run the Austin gauntlet again... | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. my second pass thru Austin this day was rather anticlimactic as riding events go, which makes for a dull story. which is fine by me. no Nhippies in site, but even so i can assure you i was NOT riding like my usual self as i neared the Austin City Limits again - THIS time i was as legal as can be, and it proved to be some time before the fear of flying was finally purged from my system and the Ferris that we all know and love came out to play again. i was able to reach Denise via landline this time, which was a relief, and we were both excited that closure was rapidly approaching. i STILL had a such a long ways to go, tho, and the sun had pivoted sharply to the west sometime this afternoon, apparently when i wasn't looking. i needed to get back to Tonopah again, as my final assault on Death Valley would be via Highway 95 and Beatty, Nevada, and it looked like i had two options to get there from Austin: backtracking thru Big Smoky Valley (nah, sorry, been there, run that, plus i'd come up a little short on mileage), or pointing into the sun on the Loneliest Highway for a spell and hanging a left on Hwy 361 at Middlegate. i chose the latter option, even tho it meant being blinded by the big orange light for awhile. i had to chuckle as i motored away from Austin again, THIS time riding right thru the cemetery at the edge of town. yep, yer darn right i was taking it easy, as it seemed the spirit of the Nevada Highway Patrol was watching from behind every headstone, just waiting for me to screw up. sorry boys and ghouls, it ain't my time yet. | ||
| Unibear12r |
Jerry, I was having waaay too much fun during the Canyon Ballet for an epiphany. Besides I think I figured that out long before that, watching you ride double up the Crest Hwy or the Lions Trail or catching a NUMBER of triple digit big airs dropping into Death Valley just trying to see where the hell you possibly could have gotten off to.  Its all Court's fault? Sounds like a fun guy. Normal is boring | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
Sounds like a fun guy. the first time i met Court he was on an obnoxious purple S1 called "Barney". it's been all downhill since. | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. The Loneliest Highway was just that - a minute out of Austin and it's the far side of the moon again. Highway 50 woulda been a GREAT place to make time, but being as i was still infested with fear i kept a tight rein on my pony. i'm guessing it was about 60 miles to the turn-off at Middlegate, and i'm further guessing i covered that distance in about 45 minutes - not ENTIRELY legal, but certainly nothing close to Graybar Hotel velocities. this leg seemed more like 45 days, a state of mind not helped at all by the sensation of wearing a lot of heavy clothes and a very tight helmet in the world's largest tanning booth. what would Middlegate be all about, i wondered aimlessly. i had a pretty good hunch, and wasn't too far from the mark as it turns out - a couple of weathered old buildings, some sagebrush, and a stray dog or two, remnants of the days when sidewalks were made of wood and every vehicle dyno'd out at exactly one horsepower. 'cept there sure seemed to be a lot of commotion around the saloon. as i slowed i could see a large, portable black-iron BBQ going at full honk in a rustic outdoor patio, surrounded by a horde of happy people with beer (or two) in hand. the smoke from the barbie - deliciously thick, aromatic, and carnivoraceous – drifted lazily across the road as i made my turn, and it took every ounce of willpower not to stop and call it a night. suddenly my only sustenance this day – several measly helpings of trail mix and jerky - seemed pitifully inadequate, and the thought of helping these folks woof down a side of beef and a keg of beer was just this side of overpowering. well, any other night of this ride i'da prolly stopped and got toasted, shot pix, got a little more toasted, fed my face, and got a little MORE toasted, and MIGHT have even passed out next to my horse - NOW we’re talkin’ some real story material, pardner! as i rolled past the party, tears trailing down my cheeks, i did the only Right Thing: i grabbed a handful of feed bag and galloped into the distance. i hope the townsfolk enjoyed the show. | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont. Highway 361 south to Luning made the Big Smoky Valley seem crowded and over-populated. i'm guilty, perhaps, of dwelling too much on how totally alone one can feel while plying Nevada, but go ride 361 from end-to-end and see if you don't concur. in its length, a distance of maybe 60 miles, i encountered one car. i also lost my fear of flying. it was immediately apparent that no self-respecting LEO would ever willingly go fishing on this road, and soon i was back to my old tricks, doing the one-handed triple-digit gettin’-it-done dance like it was the most natural thing in the world. i was losing daylight fast, which hurt my feelings. i STILL had a long way to go, and knew a good chunk of it would be in the dark on roads i'd never ridden. at Luning i picked up Highway 95 again, just south of Hawthorne. hmmmmm, I think i’ve been here before. at least THIS chunk of road looked familiar, which was a mixed blessing. the familiarity of my surroundings, as the day became night, was reassuring, yet i knew from my pass thru here this morning that it was still a pretty good haul back into Tonopah, and i was running low on emotional stamina. as had been the case for most of this day, however, thoughts of my friend in Death Valley kept me warm and focused. at 7:30 p.m. i pulled into Tonopah for the SECOND time today (still no sign of Dino...), with 737 miles under my belt since slipping out of Winnemucca under the cover of darkness this morning. i imagine most of you have ridden longer days, as have i, but perhaps you've not logged such a number after three weeks on the road. i fueled up, rammed some water, and called Denise. "I'm almost there." the final push on 95 south to Beatty was dark and cold - today's ride had officially come full circle. i wanted to hurry but knew better, fearful of nocturnal wildlife, fearful of speeding tickets, fearful of what i imagined i couldn't quite see lying dead ahead in the roadway. several times i slowed considerably to allow an overtaking car to go around, paranoid that one of them might be the Nevada Highway Patrol looking for one last chance to exact a little vigilante justice. i sang. i talked. i laughed and i cried. i recounted each day of this amazing journey in my mind, all the people, places, tears and fears, smiles, miles and memories. and i pushed on. i'm almost there. i’m almost out of words. | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont.  gas stop... (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 08, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont.  ...and mileage documentation, north end of Beatty, Nevada. (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 08, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont.  more documentation... (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 08, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont.  ...in Beatty, at the turn-off to Death Valley. sorry about the pic quality - hand-held, ambient light, and in a hurry. (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 08, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont.  kiddie corner from the two shots directly above - more proof for the DMV that i was here. (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 08, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont.  at the south end of Beatty, and the magic number... (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 08, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont.  ...at long last. (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 08, 2004) | ||
| Jerry_haughton |
DAY 23, cont.  we have a winner!!! (Message edited by jerry_haughton on December 08, 2004) |
