Day 6
June 7, 2001
Near Evanston, Wyoming
The sun was up and shining bright as I got back to I-80. I was still in a
bad mood, from the 18 dollar shellacking I took to put my TENT up in the
campground.
I was westbound in a intense white sunlight. My shadow was back, thanks to
the eastern sun.
A half full gas tank, caused me to take a early break. I exited at Emory
and found a Chevron Food Mart. I topped off the ST and went inside.
A man came in and wanted to know, if the hot dogs were ready. The
attendant said, "the girl that takes care of that doesn't come in till
10". I wanted to warn the man to stay away from convenience store hot
dogs, remembering my experience from North Dakota.
I went back outside and stared at the dirty, bug splattered ST. It had
never been this dirty before. It was then I took a closer look at the
front tire. The rubber was cracking and breaking down, cupping was
severe. I was still showing tread, but it would have to be replaced before
testing the Nevada desert.
I called Honda Riders and asked for all the dealers in the Salt Lake City
area. They quickly returned with 3 phone numbers. My third phone
call located a Dunlop 205, correct size, at Plaza Cycle, just outside the
city. I secured directions and got underway.
I quickly botched the directions and got lost in Salt Lake City. I called
the dealer back and got straightened out. I hate being in a strange city,
looking for something.
I finally found the dealer and was well taken care of. They changed my
tire and had me back on the road in a hour. Total cost 126 bucks. When I
returned home, I wrote Honda, commending this dealer for their prompt service,
and having vital ST parts on hand. Many dealers do not carry the odd size
tires a ST calls for, and that upsets me.
As I was saddling back up a salesman asked, "So where ya going to
today?" "Reno." "But that's 500
miles!". "Then I better get started".
Before I left the parking lot, I could tell the difference. The front end
no longer had a mind of its own. Now this is how a ST is suppose to
handle. I had been compensating for the tire the last few thousand
miles.
I gassed up before leaving SLC, determined not stop anymore for 200 miles.
I needed to make up for the lost time.
I continued on I-80 past The Great Salt Lake. It smelled like the
beach.
It is hot and I have the Roadcrafter fully vented out. As long as I am
moving it is ok. I guess the temp to be 100 degrees.
I cranked the ST up to 115 as I crossed the Salt Flats. Line of site was
unlimited, and there was no place for a LEO to hide. A BMW 5 series sedan
fell in behind me.
Nevada. What else is there to say? Long, hot and boring, and I was
just beginning the trek across the state. I-80 across Nevada is mind
numbing.
I kept my promise, and rode 190 miles non stop.
I exited at Elko for gas, and a well deserved break. As I gassed up the
ST, 2 Harley riders came in to do the same. They were displaying Pennsylvania
plates. They rode Soft tails all the way from Pa? I went over to
speak with them. They were young college guys, on a road trip they had been
planning since they were kids. They were on their way back east, and had
spent the previous night in Tahoe. We sipped cold Mountain Dew in the shade and
talked about bikes and road trips, and the attractive attendant inside.
Reluctantly, we had to part ways. Leaving the parking lot, bound different
directions, I gave them a farewell salute. They returned the gesture. So,
Brian, Spence, I hope y'all had a safe trip back to Pa, and I hope to see y'all
out there again someday. Ride safe.
Westbound on I-80 I see a sign that tells me Reno is 300 miles away.
Damn. Nevada is a big state.
Armed with the new front tire, I kept the ST in the 90 mph range. I fall
in a convoy of fast moving cages and settle in.
It is late afternoon now and I resign myself to the fact I am not going to make
Reno before nightfall. I will get as far west as I can.
The sun is in my face now, and I kept dropping my head to keep my eyes out of
the glare.
The landscape is a barren moonscape. Everyone is tearing along at 90
trying to get out of Nevada.
A sign reads "Truck Stop Next Exit". I remove myself from the
high speed conduit and take the exit, looking for something cold to drink.
When I get to the bottom of the exit the only thing I see is a shanty. The
sign is faded, and the place looks to have been shut down for years. I get
back on I-80 thinking they need to update the signs around here. I took
this time to treat my chapped and wind sore lips. They had been sore since
South Dakota. I am not use to the dry climate, and my lips quickly dried
out and cracked from the wind and dry air.
The sign read, "Friendliest Truck Stop in the West", but
that was long ago.
I do find a active rest area east of Winnemucca. I drink a lot of cold
water and lounge on the tables. I also got my atlas out and located a
state park with camping facilities west of Winnemucca. It looked to be a
good ending point.
I ride non stop into Winnemucca, and look for a place to eat supper.
I found my old stand by-McDonalds so went in and got the number 5- Chicken
Nuggets.
A birthday party was in progress, and young kids were running rampant.
A Native American gentleman was eating supper and reading the paper a few tables
away. He was neatly dressed in western jeans and hat. He got up to
refill his drink, and a youngster knocked his cup to the ground. He went
back to reading the paper, but when things failed to quiet down, he gave up and
left.
I found a pay phone outside and called home, giving the latest status
report.
I went over to the Texaco station and topped the ST off, then got back on the
road.
For the last 100 miles of the day I slowed down. I watched the sun slip
below the desert, and the night creep up around me. The air cooled off
quickly and riding was fun again.
Before I knew it, the exit sign for Rye Patch Rec Area came into view. I
exited and stopped at a nearby store for junk food for later at the
campground.
I put my 5 bucks camping fee in the box and ride in to look for a camp
site. The rec area was home to the only lake or river for a hundred
miles. The only green I could see, was clumped around this little
oasis.
I was surprised to see a number of campers in the park. I found a nice
spot below a hill, and set up camp in the dark.
I rode 627 miles for the day.
With my tent up and bed ready, I strolled over and took a shower. The hot
water handle was out of service. It will be a cold shower. The
desert night was cool, and the cold water was hard to deal with, especially
washing my hair.
I made it back to my tent, and studied my atlas while drinking grape juice by my
Ray o Vac battery lantern.
A couple in the next site was driving a pick up truck with a shell on the
rear. They had pulled their air mattress out on the ground, and were going
to sleep under the stars. Assuming they had good information, I did not worry
about rain.
At 1130pm I crawled in my tent, and zipped up.
