Sunday, November 28, 2010

Day 3: Ely to Green River, Kevin the Navigator!

Day 3: Ely, NV to Green River, Kevin The Navigator

Packed in my luggage is a hand-held GPS unit, a personal satellite tracking device, a smartphone with a built in GPS and compass, and a laptop computer that avails me to the vast navigation websites available on the internet. All of these things I carry not just because I am avid consumer electronics consumer, but also because I felt like they would help me stay connected and on track. Oh, and I also picked up two separate maps of Nevada, one specifically designed for motorcyclists.
 
Nevertheless, today I found myself hundreds of miles off my planned course for the day because I made a wrong turn. To be precise, I failed to make a right turn, and by right I mean a la derecha and correcto.

I found this out at a point-of-no-return since my bike only has a range of 140 miles or so, and I wasn’t sure if I would make it back. So I looked at one of the half dozen tools I brought with me to plan my new course. So instead of east, I was going to head north toward Salt Lake City.

What is this?

Later while enjoying this new direction, it dawned on me that the Bonneville International Raceway was on the way to SLC. I had never seen these legendary salt flats and always pined to each of the three times I previously drove that route. The fact that I was driving a u-haul trailing a car prevented me from taking any race-track-detours on those trips. But now was my chance.

On the way, I stopped at West Wendover, one of those last-chance-to-gamble or first-chance-to-gamble border towns in Nevada--think Jackpot without the terror and meth. I grabbed some breakfast, and Dean, a gentleman in his seventies with his wife and son asked me about my bike. He complimented mine and boasted that he had a 1976 Triumph with 3,000 miles in his garage-turned-shrine. I noticed his t-shirt featuring a rocket-powered vehicle called The Blue Flame with “630.388 MPH” across the top. I asked Dean if he had any information on Bonneville and how I might get to ride my bike on the flats. “There’s an event going on there, but you should go anyway.” Eventually I learned that he had led The Blue Flame team that broke the land-speed record back in 1970, and he was here for a 40 year reunion with his crew.

I was in the presence of racing history.

I thanked Dean and his family for the information and for watching my computer as I used the restroom, and I packed up, trying to contain my excitement at the prospect of riding on the salt.

I pulled up to the registration gate and told them that I just wanted to check it out for an hour or so, and they let me through for free.

Riding across the salt flats was about as awesome as I expected, which is pretty freaking awesome. I watched a few old hot-rods take the course, an insanely supped up Corvette, and an experimental electric motorcycle hot-rod take its inaugural run at Bonneville with young Eva behind the wheel.


On my way out, I grabbed some more photos of my bike at Bonneville, when in the corner of my eye, I spotted a Delorian that seemed to be equipped with a flux capacitor. I had to check it out. Yes, it was a Back-to-the-Future car. No, it wasn’t the Back-to-the-Future car as the owner graciously told me, even though I think i was the 763rd person to ask her. That day.
She built it to help raise money for the Michael J. Fox Foundation, so I asked her if I could make a donation in appreciation of allowing me to take photos of the car. “Of course,” she said, “Let me get a shot of you donating with all your gear!” Not only did I get to ride my bike on the Bonneville Salt Flats, but I also helped cure Parkinson's. World, you're welcome.

Before I left, I had all the salt washed off my bike. Dean had warned me that if I didn’t get the salt off I would have rust holes through my crankshafts. I assumed that would be bad, so I paid the guy five bucks.
I am sure Salt Lake City is a lovely place, but my experience there wasn’t pleasant. The 42 miles of Interstate 15 that connects SLC and Provo were some of the most miserable I have ridden. The traffic was fast, congested, aggressive, and erratic. Eventually conditions changed to slow, congested, aggressive, and erratic. I am yet to decide which is worse.

Once out of Provo, I hopped on the beautiful Hwy. 6 through Helper (positive name for a town) to Prince, where I bought a handkerchief.

My neck was chafing on my jacket collar, and yesterday I saw a cool looking BMW guy with a handkerchief around his neck. Maybe his neck was chaffing too. I was tempted to buy the one with American flags that read “Proud to be an American,” because I am. However, I felt conflicted. Not by the Made in China small-print on it, because surely no one would notice that. Mainly, I didn’t know how people would respond with the confused aesthetic I might portray by wearing a “Proud to be an American” kerchief wile riding a German made bike. I know that’s lame about me. Sometimes I’m lame, and I bought the plain navy blue one.


By the time I got to Green River, I was done for the day, so I booked a motel room with wood paneling and WiFi. What else could one want.


I have some big plans for tomorrow, so please, if any of you are following my SpotWalla page that tracks my progress, and you see me on a course that is not heading toward Paonia, Colorado, call me.

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