The Third Time IS A Charm!

Well, my most recent round trip to Utah has come to a relatively mild conclusion. During the last month I managed to put 2,855 miles on my Honda VTX. About 1,738 miles of that was getting to and from, and the other 1,117 was logged just cruising around Davis and Weber counties with my bro and BFF, Steve Farver. Steve’s lovely and talented wife, Kat, even performed a magnificent impromptu concert for us while I was there, although she was suffering a cold at the time. I did get to spend some time with three-fourths of my children and my grandchildren, most of whom were in wonderful Australia for 3 weeks visiting my son-in-laws people. My eldest son, Gene, and my youngest son, Kevin were there, but conflicting work schedules made visiting difficult. My youngest, Katy, was noticeably – but not unexpectedly – incommunicado during my stay. I keep hoping that on one of her 20-something birthdays she’ll actually grow up! But, that’s her problem …

The ride over was beautiful, but a bit warm on the deserts of Nevada and Utah. I always overnight in Winnemucca, Nevada in both directions, and on the way to Utah I met an interesting man from Finland, who loved motorcycles. We spent several hours talking about motorcycles we had each owned before I had to bring it to an end, so I could get some rest before my departure for the final leg in the morning. Bedtime came early that night – 8:30pm. And, getting-up-time came unexpectedly early at 3:15am! By 3:30 I was on I-80 eastbound, and wondering how that hot desert country could be so cold in the wee hours. I estimated the temperature to be about 40º, and stopped probably ten times to warm myself up before 8:00am. When I reached Utah I learned about ‘interpolation’. That's when the sign says “SPEED LIMIT 70”, and that’s only a suggestion. If you’re only doing 70mph you’re relegated to the right-hand lane … with everybody honking at you, shaking their mailed fist at you, and talking about yomomma (no, that is not a reference to Barack). The number 70, in Utah, translates to roughly 85. I discovered this phenomenon again at the intersection of I-80 and I-15, where traffic was just whizzing along, bumper-to-bumper, 4 lanes wide, at 85mph. At this point, realizing that I was astride the smallest thing on the highway was just a bit disconcerting, after 800+ miles of virtually no traffic .

I took some pictures while there, including one of my bro, Steve, cruising down the causeway that runs to - and back from - Antelope Island on his Yamaha V-Max at 65mph … I know he was doing 65 because I checked the speedometer on my bike as I took the pic (I think I’ll post some of those pics when I get my camera back ... I forgot it when I left my daughters house on my return trip).

The return trip was also relatively uneventful. There was the road construction on US 95 northbound, about 35 miles north of Winnemucca, Nevada, where I got to sit for about 15 minutes. The most interesting part of that stop was when the woman driving the NDOT Pilot Truck brought traffic from the other end of the construction zone, then swung around, backed up, and dropped the rear of the truck into a gravel filled ditch. After watching her spend about 6 minutes burying the front of the rear axle in the rear of the gravel hump, I told the lady flagging that I was going to move up and give her a clue, because she obviously didn't have one. The suggestion was: “Back straight up into the sagebrush, turn to the right, and come out about 15 feet to the right, where the surface is relatively flat and solid.” She did that and, shortly thereafter, we were off to the other end of the construction zone.

My first animal encounter was with a desert jackrabbit that galloped across US 95 just ahead of me. I considered us both to be lucky. Then there was the bird that apparently had failed physics in flight school, and didn’t realize that my rate of closure at 70mph was 102.6667 feet per second. Luckily for him, he swerved at just the right moment. My next, and final, animal confrontation was with a cow and her calf, standing in the middle of US 95, just kinda hanging out about 40 miles east of Adel, Oregon (population 79). I had to come to a complete stop until she made up her mind which direction they were eventually going to move.

Then there was the 40 miles of Mixed Donkey Doodoo Dodging (it was wild burro poop, but I couldn’t come up with a scatologically referenced alliteration to work with the word “burro”). Actually, it looked as if Billy-Jim-Bob had held a cattle drive along the two-lane road the recent past, so I nicknamed it the “Cow Pie Highway”. With almost-constant swerving, I managed to avoid the fresher specimens, but occasionally I clipped a dry, dusty dung dollop.

Then, outside of Klamath Falls, Oregon, I once again entered the fearsome Valley of The Ten Thousand Grasshoppers! Undaunted, I pushed on, and, much to my relief, there was no horde of large, airborne insects this time. I hit maybe two of them – one became a windshield decoration, and the other a splat on the side of my boot.

Other than 4 more delays for road repairs along OR 95 and OR 140, nothing particularly noteworthy occurred on my return trip. I spent ten hours on the bike that last day of my trip, and required a transplant of the gluteus maximus when it ended. I felt as if I had just been released from a lengthy stint in a Greek prison! I am now seriously contemplating the insertion of a hospital-grade gel pad … under the cover of my bike’s saddle.

"The Third Time Is A Charm" ... or so they say

Alrighty then ... here's what's happening. Much to the dismay of the intelligent masses, and to the relief of the left-wing, bleeding-heart-liberal, blame-America-first crowd, my blog may be inactive for the next month ... unless perhaps I can access it using my beautiful, talented and brilliant daughter's computer while I'm there.

I'm taking my third almost annual motorcycle ride back to see my kids, and some old friends, who are about 865 miles away. Hopefully, this ride will be relatively uneventful. This is how the first two went:

Trip 1: Departed Grants Pass OR the morning of the 8th of June, in drizzling rain. Not a big deal inasmuch as I knew neither the bike nor I would melt. It quit raining about 50 miles east of Grants Pass. About 20 miles later I saw the first sign that read Snow Zone Ahead. It stirred a premonition within me, and, sure enough ... **SNOW** began falling from the sky. To make a long story short - I hit 4 snowstorms and 3 thunderstorms that first day out, and only made half the distance I had planned, which also qualified it as the most miserable day I had spent on two wheels in the entire 49 years I had been riding motorcycles (Yes, it was even more miserable than the day I totaled a bike in Las Vegas and was taken to the hospital.)
The visit itself was lovely, and then there was the return trip, during which I had a run-in with a yearling range calf. This animal had obviously placed himself in the middle of this two-lane road, waiting to ambush some human being. I had just passed a slow-moving pickup truck and was doing about 75mph when I saw it. I slid back over into my lane as soon as I could, keeping an eye on the errant calf the whole time. Not knowing what, if anything, it was going to do, I moved as close to the right-hand shoulder as I could without getting into the gravel. I was south bound and the calf was facing east - this was a good sign ... until I got within about 100 feet of it. I had slowed to about 50mph when the calf suddenly turned 180º and began ambling toward the right shoulder. "Ambling" is an excellent word to describe his movement ... not a trot, or a canter, or gallop ... just a leisurely sort of strolling movement - like what cowboys refer to as "moseying". Knowing that I didn't have sufficient time or space to go behind him, and that he could just as easily change directions again even if I did try to go behind him, I held my line along the shoulder of the road. The first thing his head hit was my left highway peg, spinning it around 180º, the second thing was my left knee (imagine being hit in the knee by a bowling ball traveling at 50mph, and then, as a final gesture of defiance, he ripped the front strap off my left-side saddlebag. I looked in my mirrors to see what the aftermath was, and I saw the calf staggering off the road and I assume that he survived our encounter. The rest of the trip was uneventful.

Trip 2: Wishing to avoid a recurrence of weather problems, I waited about 2 weeks longer to begin my second trip, leaving on the 18th of June this time. That was a good move. Other than some bothersome highway construction on I-215 and I-15 from the Salt Lake City International Airport all the way to Davis and Weber Counties 30 miles north (and perhaps even beyond, but that was as far as I was going), the trip over was relatively uneventful. I did notice that when I would come to a stop on the 2nd day of my trip, my oil warning light would come on momentarily, and then go back off. The 2nd day I was there I took the bike to a local Kawasaki dealer and asked what they might think it was, and their answer basically suggested that it was "nothing major," but that I "might want to keep an eye on it". Okie-dokie ... I can do that. A couple of days later, as I was going through one of Utah's many scenic highway construction zones, I noticed a sign that read, Speed Limit 30MPH. Glancing at my speedometer, it was reporting 100mph which, considering I was barely moving, impressed me as being an inaccurate representation of my forward velocity. As soon as I cleared the construction, I stopped the bike and looked at the speedometer which, sitting dead still, continued to register 100mph. About 3 days, and $300, later I had a shiny new, functional speedometer. Another lovely visit ... and then, there was the return trip.
Remember that little "nothing major" thing that I should "keep an eye on"? I noticed a bit of clutch slippage the last day I was there in Utah, but nothing disconcerting. It only happened when I hit the throttle with some gusto - no biggie. Or at least, no biggie while I was in civilization. Leaving a gas stop in Battle Mountain NV, I noticed that all of a sudden I had to release my clutch fully before it would even start to engage. This was not a good sign. As I returned to traveling I-80W in a hopeful manner toward Winnemucca NV, I noticed my speed increasing - gradually - and, 10 miles later, I was almost (68mph) up to the posted speed limit of 75mph. In the 11th mile, I lost all forward motion, and came coasting to a stop on the shoulder of I-80W at high noon on the 2nd of July - ambient air temperature 106º, and probably 115º coming off the concrete of the highway. I had been hoping to reach Winnemucca, knowing that there was a Kawasaki motorcycle dealership there, but it wasn't meant to be. Of course my cell phone wouldn't reach anybody out in the middle of nowhere, except 911, whom I called and explained my situation. About 45 minutes later a very nice Nevada Highway Patrolman named Cory something-or-other, showed up and summoned a tow truck for me out of Winnemucca. About 2 hours later the truck actually appeared. To make a long story even longer, while the truck operator was strapping down my bike, I rested on the trailer tongue. When he said, "Okay, all done.", I got up, took about 2 steps and went flat on my face - heat stroke! I got back up, probably within a few seconds, climbed into the air conditioned truck and rode to Winnemucca feeling like I had been under a truck. The Kawasaki dealership ordered a new clutch for me, and 3 days and $486 later, I was ready to finish my trip, the remainder of which was uneventful.

Two weeks later I sold that motorcycle, and bought a NEW 2007 Honda VTX motorcycle, which is what I'm riding over on this trip. I don't expect any problems with the bike, which has less than 6,000 miles on it today. With cooperative weather, and timid animal life, I am looking forward to a totally uneventful month on the road. (I wonder what the odds are of being struck by a sociopathic nun, thrown by an albino dwarf from a 747, while the plane, piloted by a myopic Icelander, is cruising at 25,000 feet ...)