Monday, April 15, 2002 Las Vegas, Nevada
My first visit to Las Vegas was in late summer, 1992, as I was hauling a load
of computer manufacturing equipment from Boise, Idaho to LAX for air shipment to Israel. Driving west
across US-93 from Caliente, Nevada that night, I'd noticed a glow in the sky in the distance. One
hundred miles to the south hundreds of megawatts of electricity were being consumed to make this probably
the brightest lit spot on the face of the earth. The next day I dropped my trailer at a truckstop and
bobtailed around the city, in awe at the number of places a sucker and his dollar (or nickels, dimes,
or quarters) could be separated.
Interested in a little sightseeing, I'd hooked on to my trailer the next
day and drove down 93 toward Kingman, but turned around just inside the Arizona line to take another look
at Hoover Dam. I'll tell you, the best way to SEE the U. S. is from a cabover semi-tractor, provided
it's air-conditioned and has a comfortable bunk. But the best way to EXPERIENCE the U. S. is from the
seat of a motorcycle.
Now here I was back again, maybe my tenth visit in the past ten years.
The initial fascination had long since worn off, and it now appeared only as an oversized city sitting
in the hot desert.
We'd found a room Sunday night at the Motel 6 on W. Tropicana Blvd. and
settled in for an extended stay. Russ needed to get some work done on his bike, and we had planned
all along to visit the Art of the Motorcycle exhibit. As it turned out, Russ spent most of his day
getting the work done on his Honda and purchasing parts and a new helmet. Will and I headed on to
the Venetian to view the motorcycles, urging Russ to get there as soon as he could. From all we'd
heard before coming down this way, it was worth every cent of the admission price. As it proved to be.
Something happened that Monday morning that made us wonder if it was safe
to be in our company. Russ and Will left the motel in the morning to ride over to the Honda dealer
Russ had contacted to work on his bike. They left the motel headed east, and were making a U-turn at
the first intersection to head back west. As they made the turn, Russ looked in his rear view mirror
and saw Will and his bike on their sides.
When we had arrived in Las Vegas the evening before, the wind was howling
through the city. It was obvious, from the amount of debris that was blowing all over, that wind of
this velocity was unusual, even for Las Vegas. Along with the wind came light, loose sand. It
was a thin layer of this sand, virtually invisible, that had been Will's undoing. Fortunately,
there was no discernible damage to the bike or rider, but we began to wonder...
Tuesday, April 16, 2002 Las Vegas, Nevada
The wind had died down to a steady breeze, and while it was pretty warm,
at least the humidity was nearly non-existent. At 9:30 in the morning Russ and I were ready to get
back on the highway and headed for San Ysidro, the second corner of our tour. Will was going to head
back home to the Seattle area, so we'd said our good-byes the night before.
We topped off our tanks and prepared to get onto I-15 southbound. As
we rode along, Russ in the lead, I detected a strong odor of gasoline, and closer investigation revealed
a nearly steady stream of the fluid coming from Russ' bike. Signaling him that we needed to stop
and check it, we pulled off the interstate and parked along the curb of a subdivision street, in the
blazing hot sunlight. The fuel valve from his auxiliary tank was leaking, and it took a few minutes
- which included removing the filler from the tank - to correct the problem. Now we were ready to
make time in the desired direction.
There was no windshield available in Las Vegas for Russ' bike, so he had
called ahead to a Cycle Gear outlet in San Marcos, California. They would have one sent to their
store by UPS and have it waiting when we got there Tuesday afternoon. Now we had an appointment to
keep prior to making the corner at San Ysidro. Once again Russ was riding without a windshield, but
with new handlebars and without the vicious headwind it was much easier so we maintained a good pace.
After we got to Cycle Gear it didn't take Russ an hour to have the new
windshield mounted and his bike ready to go again. Fortunately, there was a Baskin-Robbins ice cream
store just across the side street, so I had something to do while Russ worked on his bike. Alaskans
are reputed to be the largest per-capita consumers of ice cream in the world, and it is only through
diligent effort that we maintain that reputation. Had to stay in practice.
Nearing sundown, we arrived at San Ysidro around 6:30 PM and saw a little more of the town than really necessary as we searched for the San Ysidro Post Office. Having difficulty finding legal parking near the post office, we pulled the bikes up to the curb in front of the sign and quickly took our obligatory photos and departed. It didn't take us long to find our way back out to I-805 then I-8 and get our bikes pointed east. It was just after we'd started toward Arizona on I-8 that Russ and I had our first, but far from last, mix-up due to a lack of communication.
Being the idiot that I am, I'd failed to change my dark tinted faceshield to the clear one while we were stopped at San Ysidro. So now, with the sun well down over the horizon, I realized I needed to get it done if I were to see where I was going. Leading at the time, I signaled for a right turn to change lanes and take the next exit, which came up sooner than I'd expected. Russ was caught behind a couple of cars and didn't see me get off the freeway. We were now separated, with no plans made for getting back together in case of such an event, except that we had each other's cell phone numbers.
As long as I was off the interstate anyway, I went ahead and found a store with a large parking lot along the street I'd gotten off onto, then proceeded to change my faceshield and take care of anything else that needed attention for the all night ride that was to follow. It wasn't long before my cell phone rang. Russ had realized what I'd done a bit too late to get off the freeway with me, so he'd gone on up a few more exits to one with a fast food restaurant. After getting directions from him, I rode up to join him in a meal that was overdue anyway. Now we were ready to travel.
Having read of many riders encountering high crosswinds as they passed over the summit east of San Diego, we were prepared to fight them ourselves. But to our relief, there were only some benign breezes to cool us before our descent into the purgatory of the Imperial Valley. We continued to make good progress as we approached the Arizona border.
Wednesday, April 17, 2002 I-8, nearing Yuma, Arizona
Midnight and a new day arrived together just minutes before we left California
and crossed into Arizona at Yuma. A quick stop to refuel and grab some liquid refreshment and snacks,
and back onto the interstate. The miles continued to fall behind as we waited for the sun to come up
ahead of us. It was just getting light when we turned off I-8 at Gila Bend and headed north to
intersect I-10 west of Phoenix. A few miles to the west on I-10 there was a Rip Griffin Truck Stop
that I'd stopped at several times in the past, so we turned that way to grab some breakfast.
After breakfast, our next destination was the Cycle Gear outlet in
Mesa, Arizona. I'd had a friend back home mail a spare Givi mounting plate there for me to pick up.
We took a few minutes in the parking lot to bolt that on, completing the final repair to my Concours
and allowing me to discard the strap that had been holding the tail trunk to the bike for the last
4600 miles.
Prior to our departure from Alaska Russ and I had made plans to visit the
Big Bend country of Texas if we had the time. If we kept moving at a steady pace, we would have
ample time before we had to be in McComb, Mississippi Friday night. Electing to abandon the
interstate in favor of some two-lane highway, we continued east on US-60, fueling again at Apache
Junction and then headed across the dry, hot country toward New Mexico. At Globe we turned onto US-70,
which would take us on to Lordsburg, New Mexico, where we would once again join I-10.
Shortly before crossing the state line into New Mexico, Russ found a large
pullout with a lone tree (although even that term is stretching it a bit as this wasn't much more than a
tall bush) that offered a token shelter from the hot sun, because he needed to do some more work on his
ailing bike. Thus the term "shade tree mechanic" became a reality there in that desiccating climate.
The 10 months that have passed since that day have blotted the exact nature of the repair from my memory,
but it was serious enough that we were there for over an hour while Russ worked on it. Long enough
that at one point we had to move both bikes to stay in the shade as it circled around our miniscule
shelter.
Finally the repairs were completed to Russ' satisfaction; his bike was
repacked; and we prepared to leave Arizona behind. Except that the Honda's engine wouldn't turn
over. We tried push starting it to no avail; the engine was locked.
Taking a break to think things over, the thought occurred that the problem
might be hydrostatic lock. A little sleuthing proved that to be the case, and by removing all the
spark plugs it was soon cleared up, but not before Russ got a facefull of gasoline. The offending
cylinder was apparently the first one to come up on compression stroke so there was insufficient inertia
to damage connecting rod or crankshaft, and there was no indication of any damage to the engine. We
breathed a joint sigh of relief when it was once again running smoothly and quietly, as a blown engine at
this point in the Tour would have severely afflicted our schedule.
Now we were once again on our way to Lordsburg, where we enjoyed a meal,
then rode on over to Las Cruces to spend the night at one of my favorite Best Western motels.
Thursday, April 18, 2002 Las Cruces, New Mexico
Las Cruces has always been a city I enjoy waking up in. This morning
was no different. It was cool and dry, with a soft breeze gently shaking the leaves in the trees
that surrounded the courtyard. Beautiful weather for a ride, and that's what we had planned for
the day. It was just after 4:00 PM when we got to Marfa, Texas on our way down to the Rio Grande
River at Presidio. There would be daylight for several hours, so we continued with our plan to
take in the Big Bend area.
In many trips back and forth across Texas on I-10, I-20, I-40, I-35,
I-45, and numerous two-lane highways in the past 40 years, I have gained the impression that Texas has
more square miles of nothing to see than several other states put together - including Kansas. But
the ride along the Rio Grande in that part of the state had me revising my opinion. Maybe I'm just
a sucker for natural, rugged, mountain scenery, but I found myself rubber-necking like any other
tourist as we rode down the narrow valley. I'll go back for another look, and many more photos,
someday.
Presidio surprised me a little by appearing to be a somewhat normal
small, border crossing town down along the river. Sort of what El Paso might have been like 150
years ago. But once we moved downstream a few miles, modern civilization was left behind as we
went back in time.
If anyone ever asks me whether I've seen the movie Lonesome Dove, I
can now tell him I've been there. Yup, been to Lajitas, Texas. Didn't see a herd of pigs running
around chasing snakes, but they may have been resting in some shady spot as we rode by.
Stopped briefly in Terlingua to look up someone I'd met in Glennallen
many years ago, but found that he'd moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, so I just had a cold iced tea and
took off after Russ again.
Dusk was coming on swiftly as we passed the Big Bend National Park
Headquarters near Panther Junction, and we were soon back to using our driving lights as we sought
to avoid the numerous deer yet quickly get back onto a main highway and once again resume our trek
eastward. Neither of us was aware at the time that we were starting out on our first 1000-mile
day together.
Reaching Fort Stockton around 11:00 PM we fueled the bikes, then found
a restaurant in which to fuel the riders.
Friday, April 19, 2002 Fort Stockton, Texas
We finished our supper and got on our bikes just at the hour they were
in danger of turning into pumpkins. We had been hoping all along to get to McComb Friday night,
but we still had a few miles to go (900, actually). So away we went once more, ready to do those
miles at a SaddleSore pace.
Getting separated west of San Antonio, Russ and I followed divergent
routes getting into that city, but managed to join up again in time to look for a place to eat breakfast
as we exited to the east on I-10. Taking an exit with a likely looking dining establishment, we
parked in front and proceeded to remove helmets, gloves, and riding suits. About the time we
were ready to head for the door, a young lady - presumably the waitress - came out and announced
that the restaurant was closing. This met with some skepticism from Russ and I, as the patrons
within showed no sign of preparing to leave. In fact, a car pulled up and the driver strode on
in and took a seat at a table with no sign that he was being refused service.
We took photos of the place, and noted the location (I-10, Exit 587,
on the southwest side) in order to publicize the anti-motorcyclist attitude we witnessed there.
It's nice to be able to report that in all our travels, that was the only instance of bias that we
were aware of. We rode on up to Seguin to have our breakfast.
While stopped there, a gentleman approached us, asking a few questions
about our travels. Before leaving, he mentioned that he had a friend who had ridden up to Colorado
and thought he was traveling a very long distance. The man said with a big grin "Wait until I see
him again, I'm gonna tell him I met some REAL riders today".
Yeah, if we can just learn to keep our bikes upright.
Now we couldn't claim that we hadn't been warned about the traffic snarl
known down south as I-10 through Houston. But we were moving along so well as we entered the west
side of the city that we were sure we'd just hit it lucky. We didn't even notice as we passed
the escape route labeled I-610 North, and kept speeding on down the interstate, blissful in our
soon-to-be-educated ignorance. With a suddenness neither of us was prepared for, all the lanes
of traffic came to a standstill. In a moment we started moving again, but only for a few feet,
then it was back to sitting motionless. Did I mention that we hit Houston at 11:00 AM? And
did I report that it was a fine sunny day, with nary a cloud in the sky. And is there any need to comment
that Houston has one of the more humid climates to be found in the United States? When we finally
got under an overpass, we prayed that traffic would stay halted for a while just so we could
cool off.
Once we got past the bottleneck and traffic started moving fairly
steadily I, who was in the lead at the time, led us the wrong way so that we ended up getting spit out
onto a downtown street - not at all what we wanted. So Russ got his first (but not last) taste
of my unscheduled city tours. The good side of all this was that we really appreciated the open
interstate once we found it again.
Over in Louisiana, I-10 never seemed as bad to me as the complaints
I've read from other riders would have indicated, but that may be due to the quality of roads I'm
used to riding up north. In fact, we both rather enjoyed the highway across the state, especially
as we got off I-10 onto I-12 east of Baton Rouge.
While I've crossed the high bridge into Baton Rouge many times in a semi,
this was my first time on a motorcycle. Don't think I'd care to do it in a high wind, but the view
from the bike is great. You could see all the way from the haze on the left clear over to the haze
on the right. And having spent many years driving truck on twisty mountain roads, I always enjoy
the winding freeway through this city. Made the bike ride a bit more interesting as well.
By staying in the saddle and moving with the flow of the traffic in the
passing lanes we arrived in McComb just about sundown. It was great to be there, and know that we'd
have a day to just goof off and have a good time, as well as get caught up on laundry and any shopping
we had to do.