For quite sometime, after my couple excursions to the east my Dad had told me I needed to take a trip west. As history tends to repeat, he was right. Not that I really doubted him. Only I hadn't really had a reason to go west. Well I guess that's reason enough right? Well, for me it is.
I find the confines of my daily life are nearly strangling for someone minded like myself. The security of comfort is sad & pathetic. There's no risk in it. A backpack, an atlas & a motorcycle pointed down anything that resembles a road is my escape. It's better than any drug out there. Believe me, I've done my fair share of drugs, your's too. Good stuff.
Society teaches us to embrace apathy & complacency. Those who govern the sheeple give them just enough to survive & they stay content in their unknowing desperate misery.
Piss off. I'll take a ditch, a can of pears & huddling against a warm engine under the wide open sky on a cool night over anything else. It's comforting, having no idea what might happen next. Being alone, against the elements, knowing that you are the only thing you can rely on. No shelter. No company. The decision you make next might break your neck. You're committed. There's no turning around. You're so far beyond the logical bounds of safety that there's nothing else to do besides press forward, no matter the odds.
This whole mess started on my way to Canada years ago when I met Patrick. We only visited a few hours & most of that was blazing through the scenic hills of New Hampshire. He was moving to Cali. Through him I also met awesome motorcycle friends like Rosemary & Jason. Eventually they all ended up in Cali & hearing how great it was there for a sport oriented motorcyclist, I had to check it out for myself.
That was pretty much it. I asked my best riding buddy Rock which way he'd go. He said take highway 50. He's from the west & can tell tales that make mine sound like a rookie.
Sounded good to me. A road is a road. Or I thought... He warned me that I planned on leaving too early in the year. I was past the point of no return. We slapped Bonnie together & I strapped a gas can to her ass anticipating the long stretches across 50, aka 'the World's Loneliest Highway'.
By the time I had reached Nevada, I had already been through the ringer. I had decided long ago no one in their right mind would attempt this. Not this time of year. Not packed this lightly. Not on a streetfighter. I made it over Monarch pass, elevation 11,312 feet the day before. A storm had snowed it shut only two days earlier. I rode through nearly freezing temperatures, through half a foot of snow, slush & ice patches in summer riding gear.
Even with dual sport tires & oxygenated gas, it was a struggle for both of us.
I had officially become a lunatic in my own mind. I suppose when I'm even able to admit it...It's pretty bad.
& the worse part was still to come...
By about Delta Utah, I should known this wasn't going to be pretty. I pulled in for gas. The Nevada line was about 85 miles west of me & there was nothing between here & there.
There were three dual sport riders, loaded for bear at the gas station. They were twice as well equipped as I was & they were headed east...
Here's your sign...
On the line, there's a gas station. Better get some, 'cause it's another 80 some odd miles to Ely. An older man in a big red SUV literally told me I was insane if I continued on. It's dangerous. It's foolish. There's nowhere to hide from what's coming. Who knows how long it'd be before someone would come along if something happened.
There's some things you simply shouldn't do. Riding across Nevada on Highway 50 in early spring, headlong into a storm front on a naked motorcycle is one of them. Take my word for it folks.
I told him Cali wasn't coming to me & I was already behind time. He just shook his head. When my mind is made up, no matter how insurmountable the odds, I'm doing it. Everything be damned. How I haven't managed to grease myself yet is beyond me. I've found myself so far beyond the edge I thought only a tractor beam would bring me back to reality. Then somehow, I manage to go farther & be fortunate enough to tell the tale.
About halfway to Ely, the sky turned a kind of black I can't describe. I was riding at night... At 2 in the afternoon. Sweeping along well past 100 mph for what seemed like an eternity, jagged rocks on each side to cushion me if I ate it, demanded as much attention as the brilliantly blinding lightning flashes pounding the earth around me.
That's when it hit me. Literally. Tink tink tink tink...
I glanced down at Bonnie's tank cover & saw the little icy pebbles.
Here it comes...
I had managed to scrub off a little bit of speed when I rode into the wall of ice. The sensation of being shot by a thousand paintball guns at point blank range was soon overcome by the realization that Bonnie's rear tire was trying to pass the front. I eased in on the clutch to bring her back in line, dropped to forth & was handling the gas like it was a timebomb.
I don't think I had ever been so smooth with my control inputs in my life. I knew one flinch could put me on my head. I had put myself in this situation & had to see myself through. At the moment, my last concern wasn't how idiotic my decision was to press forward. I had to conquer the conditions & cuss at myself later.
Visibility was akin to stuffing your head in a freezer. My helmet's shield instantly fogged over. Bonnie felt like she was going to toss me off in protest. There were a couple skids, not to mention the new ones in my pants, where I instinctively put my foot down to keep the bike up. Her weight on my leg was tremendous at points as I supported her rolling over icy marbles of insurance claim.
Bonnie & I were a three legged 120 horsepower middle finger to the laws of physics.
The hail was quarter size at one point. They felt like baseball bats. The thundering inside my helmet was deafening. I had managed to remove my clutch hand from the bar only long enough to crack my shield to get it to clear, where I could see beyond my nose. Only to run off the road.
Fortunately, there wasn't much of a decline off the road. I went through a few good sized brush thickets, the least of my worries as I was just able to see basketball sized razor sharp rocks to dodge. Which I did very poorly. I was down in second by this point & still the impacts convinced me I was going to arrive in Ely on flat tires.
And wheels.
People wonder why I so enthusiastically promote the use of Dunlop 616 tires. This is why. They've transported me coast to coast, without a single failure of any kind & will take anything you throw at them. From gumball sticky canyon roads to the most hellacious conditions most people wouldn't drive through.
Anyways. The softer terrain off highway was more secure than the blacktop. Like riding through the barrel of a concrete truck. I've found that the illusion of control is exactly that. I highly doubt that we're ever really in control of anything. Just at the present moment, the past or the last, we happen to be wanting the same outcome our machine desires. It's a sketchy reality I've accepted. Knowing at anytime, she'll put me on my head if I piss her off.
They have a mind of their own, believe me.
Eventually, I found my way to the road as the hail began to let up. It turned to a mere downpour in which I felt instantly relieved. I started to stop & I quickly realized as my tense muscles began to relax that was a bad idea.
If I were to stop at this point, I would collapse from exhaustion. I took a quick glance over my shoulder to gasp at the black minion of a storm behind me. Almost got me that time, good try...
If only for a little while. I wasn't nearly out of the shiticane yet.
I shook myself, looked down at Bonnie & with a pat on her road beaten frame...
'Let's do this girl.'
With a newfound rush of adrenaline I twisted her guts into the red & to top gear, flat out.
There was a hole in the sky, where sunshine was pouring through like a miraculous sign from the heavens I was invincible. I could see for miles, something I am used to. Even though the road dipped & curved, leading up a long straight right up another pass. I was going 150 mph, like a bat outta hell while rain drops were getting sucked off me faster than our president can sink us in debt.
Lemme tell ya, that's pretty quick.
This was the only place I saw another soul in over 80 miles. I passed what appeared to be a quarry truck going up that pass. I bet he jumped.
I came into Ely, battered & the adrenaline wearing off, getting pretty frickin' cold. I stopped at an outfitter place, bought a bright yellow slicker, another roll of duct tape & some ice fishing gloves.
There's a whorehouse in Ely. A few Harleys were parked outside, they weren't going anywhere. This I know. I actually have a friend, who was a cook there long before I was a twinkle in my old man's eye. No joke. He told me not to worry about the joint. Besides, why pay for something I can get for free?
So I peel out of Ely, stomach full of scalding gas station coffee like a hellbent rubber ducky of self destruction. More storms came & passed. I caught brief moments of sunshine that felt better than anything.
There's nothing out there. You sit here & see me say nothing, yet don't understand. It's less than nothing. It's something that simply cannot be comprehended until you've seen it. I think everyone should see this. It gives you perspective. Some people worry about the zombie apocalypse & ensuing nuclear wasteland. It's already happened folks. Along Highway 50 through Nevada is the result, we've missed the memo.
A quick tank of gas in Eureka. There was a cop sitting across the street who watched my every move as I walked to a nearby coffee shop.
It was closed but he knew something was up. I highly doubt he'd ever seen a spectacle as myself wander into that dreary little town. I know he won't again. One of Bonnie's headlights was shattered from the hail. I was beginning to limp. There was a sign in the shop that said 'I've survived Highway 50'
LO fucking L.
I pulled out & was over 100 by the time I topped the hill leaving town to the west. I never looked back for the cop, get the national guard. I'm going to Cali. The land of sunshine & sweet, sweet nectar.
Conditions were improving. When you've been through snowy mountains passes & hail storms on a motorcycle in a 24 hour period, it's pretty easy for conditions to improve. It was above freezing & I was almost dried out from engine heat coupled with shear wind tunnel speeds.
In what seemed like a few minutes, I started up another winding pass. That's when I realized Austin was on the other side. I pulled off the road on the flattest spot I could find to support Bonnie. I climbed my weary bones high as I could, peeled a damp smoke from under what was left of the shredded bright yellow slicker duct taped to my body & basked in the dusk of the menacing high desert in spring.
From my point, I could still see patches of blackened skies & felt like a gladiator after crossing the roads beneath them. The sky was blood red to the west & crystal clear.
After that I've decided Austin Nevada has to be the most desolate, hellish place one could find themselves. In the midst of nothing, the wicked eeriness of being beaten down into a neanderthal's mental state of shear survival instincts makes everything else seem minuscule.
Especially within my own generation, we need to cast aside our inhibitions & take a risk, stand tall & tell the world how you feel. Risking your own well being for a tiny gasp of life that most could never imagine will open your eyes to what is really going on. You should try it sometime.
Ya'll have a good one.
I find the confines of my daily life are nearly strangling for someone minded like myself. The security of comfort is sad & pathetic. There's no risk in it. A backpack, an atlas & a motorcycle pointed down anything that resembles a road is my escape. It's better than any drug out there. Believe me, I've done my fair share of drugs, your's too. Good stuff.
Society teaches us to embrace apathy & complacency. Those who govern the sheeple give them just enough to survive & they stay content in their unknowing desperate misery.
Piss off. I'll take a ditch, a can of pears & huddling against a warm engine under the wide open sky on a cool night over anything else. It's comforting, having no idea what might happen next. Being alone, against the elements, knowing that you are the only thing you can rely on. No shelter. No company. The decision you make next might break your neck. You're committed. There's no turning around. You're so far beyond the logical bounds of safety that there's nothing else to do besides press forward, no matter the odds.
This whole mess started on my way to Canada years ago when I met Patrick. We only visited a few hours & most of that was blazing through the scenic hills of New Hampshire. He was moving to Cali. Through him I also met awesome motorcycle friends like Rosemary & Jason. Eventually they all ended up in Cali & hearing how great it was there for a sport oriented motorcyclist, I had to check it out for myself.
That was pretty much it. I asked my best riding buddy Rock which way he'd go. He said take highway 50. He's from the west & can tell tales that make mine sound like a rookie.
Sounded good to me. A road is a road. Or I thought... He warned me that I planned on leaving too early in the year. I was past the point of no return. We slapped Bonnie together & I strapped a gas can to her ass anticipating the long stretches across 50, aka 'the World's Loneliest Highway'.
By the time I had reached Nevada, I had already been through the ringer. I had decided long ago no one in their right mind would attempt this. Not this time of year. Not packed this lightly. Not on a streetfighter. I made it over Monarch pass, elevation 11,312 feet the day before. A storm had snowed it shut only two days earlier. I rode through nearly freezing temperatures, through half a foot of snow, slush & ice patches in summer riding gear.
Even with dual sport tires & oxygenated gas, it was a struggle for both of us.
I had officially become a lunatic in my own mind. I suppose when I'm even able to admit it...It's pretty bad.
& the worse part was still to come...
By about Delta Utah, I should known this wasn't going to be pretty. I pulled in for gas. The Nevada line was about 85 miles west of me & there was nothing between here & there.
There were three dual sport riders, loaded for bear at the gas station. They were twice as well equipped as I was & they were headed east...
Here's your sign...
On the line, there's a gas station. Better get some, 'cause it's another 80 some odd miles to Ely. An older man in a big red SUV literally told me I was insane if I continued on. It's dangerous. It's foolish. There's nowhere to hide from what's coming. Who knows how long it'd be before someone would come along if something happened.
There's some things you simply shouldn't do. Riding across Nevada on Highway 50 in early spring, headlong into a storm front on a naked motorcycle is one of them. Take my word for it folks.
I told him Cali wasn't coming to me & I was already behind time. He just shook his head. When my mind is made up, no matter how insurmountable the odds, I'm doing it. Everything be damned. How I haven't managed to grease myself yet is beyond me. I've found myself so far beyond the edge I thought only a tractor beam would bring me back to reality. Then somehow, I manage to go farther & be fortunate enough to tell the tale.
About halfway to Ely, the sky turned a kind of black I can't describe. I was riding at night... At 2 in the afternoon. Sweeping along well past 100 mph for what seemed like an eternity, jagged rocks on each side to cushion me if I ate it, demanded as much attention as the brilliantly blinding lightning flashes pounding the earth around me.
That's when it hit me. Literally. Tink tink tink tink...
I glanced down at Bonnie's tank cover & saw the little icy pebbles.
Here it comes...
I had managed to scrub off a little bit of speed when I rode into the wall of ice. The sensation of being shot by a thousand paintball guns at point blank range was soon overcome by the realization that Bonnie's rear tire was trying to pass the front. I eased in on the clutch to bring her back in line, dropped to forth & was handling the gas like it was a timebomb.
I don't think I had ever been so smooth with my control inputs in my life. I knew one flinch could put me on my head. I had put myself in this situation & had to see myself through. At the moment, my last concern wasn't how idiotic my decision was to press forward. I had to conquer the conditions & cuss at myself later.
Visibility was akin to stuffing your head in a freezer. My helmet's shield instantly fogged over. Bonnie felt like she was going to toss me off in protest. There were a couple skids, not to mention the new ones in my pants, where I instinctively put my foot down to keep the bike up. Her weight on my leg was tremendous at points as I supported her rolling over icy marbles of insurance claim.
Bonnie & I were a three legged 120 horsepower middle finger to the laws of physics.
The hail was quarter size at one point. They felt like baseball bats. The thundering inside my helmet was deafening. I had managed to remove my clutch hand from the bar only long enough to crack my shield to get it to clear, where I could see beyond my nose. Only to run off the road.
Fortunately, there wasn't much of a decline off the road. I went through a few good sized brush thickets, the least of my worries as I was just able to see basketball sized razor sharp rocks to dodge. Which I did very poorly. I was down in second by this point & still the impacts convinced me I was going to arrive in Ely on flat tires.
And wheels.
People wonder why I so enthusiastically promote the use of Dunlop 616 tires. This is why. They've transported me coast to coast, without a single failure of any kind & will take anything you throw at them. From gumball sticky canyon roads to the most hellacious conditions most people wouldn't drive through.
Anyways. The softer terrain off highway was more secure than the blacktop. Like riding through the barrel of a concrete truck. I've found that the illusion of control is exactly that. I highly doubt that we're ever really in control of anything. Just at the present moment, the past or the last, we happen to be wanting the same outcome our machine desires. It's a sketchy reality I've accepted. Knowing at anytime, she'll put me on my head if I piss her off.
They have a mind of their own, believe me.
Eventually, I found my way to the road as the hail began to let up. It turned to a mere downpour in which I felt instantly relieved. I started to stop & I quickly realized as my tense muscles began to relax that was a bad idea.
If I were to stop at this point, I would collapse from exhaustion. I took a quick glance over my shoulder to gasp at the black minion of a storm behind me. Almost got me that time, good try...
If only for a little while. I wasn't nearly out of the shiticane yet.
I shook myself, looked down at Bonnie & with a pat on her road beaten frame...
'Let's do this girl.'
With a newfound rush of adrenaline I twisted her guts into the red & to top gear, flat out.
There was a hole in the sky, where sunshine was pouring through like a miraculous sign from the heavens I was invincible. I could see for miles, something I am used to. Even though the road dipped & curved, leading up a long straight right up another pass. I was going 150 mph, like a bat outta hell while rain drops were getting sucked off me faster than our president can sink us in debt.
Lemme tell ya, that's pretty quick.
This was the only place I saw another soul in over 80 miles. I passed what appeared to be a quarry truck going up that pass. I bet he jumped.
I came into Ely, battered & the adrenaline wearing off, getting pretty frickin' cold. I stopped at an outfitter place, bought a bright yellow slicker, another roll of duct tape & some ice fishing gloves.
There's a whorehouse in Ely. A few Harleys were parked outside, they weren't going anywhere. This I know. I actually have a friend, who was a cook there long before I was a twinkle in my old man's eye. No joke. He told me not to worry about the joint. Besides, why pay for something I can get for free?
So I peel out of Ely, stomach full of scalding gas station coffee like a hellbent rubber ducky of self destruction. More storms came & passed. I caught brief moments of sunshine that felt better than anything.
There's nothing out there. You sit here & see me say nothing, yet don't understand. It's less than nothing. It's something that simply cannot be comprehended until you've seen it. I think everyone should see this. It gives you perspective. Some people worry about the zombie apocalypse & ensuing nuclear wasteland. It's already happened folks. Along Highway 50 through Nevada is the result, we've missed the memo.
A quick tank of gas in Eureka. There was a cop sitting across the street who watched my every move as I walked to a nearby coffee shop.
It was closed but he knew something was up. I highly doubt he'd ever seen a spectacle as myself wander into that dreary little town. I know he won't again. One of Bonnie's headlights was shattered from the hail. I was beginning to limp. There was a sign in the shop that said 'I've survived Highway 50'
LO fucking L.
I pulled out & was over 100 by the time I topped the hill leaving town to the west. I never looked back for the cop, get the national guard. I'm going to Cali. The land of sunshine & sweet, sweet nectar.
Conditions were improving. When you've been through snowy mountains passes & hail storms on a motorcycle in a 24 hour period, it's pretty easy for conditions to improve. It was above freezing & I was almost dried out from engine heat coupled with shear wind tunnel speeds.
In what seemed like a few minutes, I started up another winding pass. That's when I realized Austin was on the other side. I pulled off the road on the flattest spot I could find to support Bonnie. I climbed my weary bones high as I could, peeled a damp smoke from under what was left of the shredded bright yellow slicker duct taped to my body & basked in the dusk of the menacing high desert in spring.
From my point, I could still see patches of blackened skies & felt like a gladiator after crossing the roads beneath them. The sky was blood red to the west & crystal clear.
After that I've decided Austin Nevada has to be the most desolate, hellish place one could find themselves. In the midst of nothing, the wicked eeriness of being beaten down into a neanderthal's mental state of shear survival instincts makes everything else seem minuscule.
Especially within my own generation, we need to cast aside our inhibitions & take a risk, stand tall & tell the world how you feel. Risking your own well being for a tiny gasp of life that most could never imagine will open your eyes to what is really going on. You should try it sometime.
Ya'll have a good one.
arroia:
I must thank you for this awesome read with my morning coffee. All I will say is that you are insane (in the most positive way possible) and that I wish I were more like you.
kawasakifreak77:
Well thank you! I didn't think a famous suicide girl would come along & like it.