Day 7
June 8th, 2002
West of Winnemucca, Nevada
I get up early, repeating in my mind today is the day I land in the Promised
Land. I have been on the road 6 days, bound for California by way of
Minnesota and the Dakotas. I have big ambitions for the day. Tahoe, then
Yosemite, before descending into the Bay area, to meet up with fellow STOC
members for a weekend gathering.
I leave the campground in the early morning twilight. The couple that
slept outside, are stirring about, but no one else.
I gloomily get back on I-80 for the final hundred miles to Reno. At this
stage of a long tour 100 miles feels insignificant. Not on I-80, where
every excruciating mile is a test of a riders will to continue.
Entering the interstate, I glance back to the east, and the sky is a fiery
orange, from the impending sunrise.
Traffic is surprisingly heavy this time of morning. Truck traffic is
thick, and the ST is bucked in their turbulence. I want to get this over
quick, so set the helm of the ST at 100 mph.
Purring along at such speeds I think about riding back home. Although
Alabama interstates are well maintained, they are too crowded, and heavily
patrolled. Landscape and hills afford LEOs thousands of places to
hide. A guy can't even think about riding 100mph for any length. Here in
the vast, open American west, it is commonplace.
I noticed a loose bungee strap and began looking for a exit. I got
lucky, a area appeared rather quickly. I geared down and pulled in.
Just across from the area a pick-up is giving assistance to a RV with the hood
up.
I checked my bags and satisfied everything was ok, I went in to use the
facilities. I also strolled the area. The area is named after Carlos
Borland, a Nevada State Trooper killed in the line of duty. He graduated
number one in his class. A marble marker located in the area gives
testimony to his sacrifice, and that of his family.
The
Borland Rest Area, I-70
I read another marker noting I-80 is known as the Eisenhower Highway. Named
after the president who had the vision to create such a vast, public works
project as the interstate system. I looked at the map and can see I-80
connects San Francisco with New York. I asked myself , "I wonder if
anyone has a 50cc on I-80?" Hmmmm?
The last sign I read reminds a guy water is trucked in 25 miles, and not to
waste it.
When I get back on the road I quickly find myself in the morning commute into
Reno. I don't mind it, as I know I will be LEAVING I-80 soon, and OUT of
Nevada.
Cruising through the downtown exits, a young lady smiles at me from a Maxima,
and I wave back. Nevada is not that bad after all.
I saw a Denny's sign and decide to exit. I need to eat something
substantial here, and ride through lunch.
The restaurant was busy, so I sat at the bar and was promptly served. I got the
bacon and pancakes, and did not bother look for grits on the menu.
I was humored at the guys playing the slot machines in the waiting area.
They looked liked they could ill afford to pumping money into it.
In the parking lot I treated my chapped lips again. After yesterday's ride
they are sore and raw. Parts of my upper lip are trying to scab
over. My first meal of the day is painful because the eating movement
causes the scabbing to break apart and hurt. I tell myself I am going to
have get some help to get them well.
After breakfast I took the Carson City exit, and began looking for US 395
south.
In Virginia City I see a "Doc in the Box" and pull in, telling myself
this is as good as time as any to get something for my lip. I whipped out
my Blue Cross with PMD and 30 minutes hour walk out with a prescription.
I rode down to the local K Mart, and picked up my ointment. I also bought a new
phone card, Twizzlers, and a throw away camera.
I find a local road that will take me up to Lake Tahoe. I wanted to be
able to say I saw Lake Tahoe on this trip, so I made a side trip up the
mountain. The road gets twisty and I have a little fun. The temp
also begins to drop, and it feels good.
I reach the top of the mountain and take a few pics, then back track back down
the way I came. The sortie to Tahoe costs me over a hour, but it was worth
it. Tahoe is a beautiful area and I am glad I went.
A short time after I returned to 395 south, I noticed a lone rider up
ahead. He looked to be on a touring bike. I passed the 3 cars
between us, and pull alongside and see a BMW K 1100, Royal Blue with Idaho
plates.
The K bike pulls over and we make our introductions. The rider is a mild
mannered mid-aged gentleman named Bill Weiss. He is on his way to San Jose
by way of Yosemite. When I told him I was headed for Yosemite, he
suggested we ride together. He told me he was originally from the area and
knew Yosemite well. I said ,"well take the lead."
It felt good to have some company after so many days of riding alone.
We rode briskly down 395 passing more then a few cars and trucks. Our plan is to
enter the park at Tioga Pass.
We stopped and took pictures of the bikes and each other at Lake Topaz. I
could feel the temp dropping. I also applied more ointment to my lips.
We crossed into California, and the inspection station waved us through,
confident we were not harboring bad fruit with Med Flies.
Bill needed gas so we pulled into a station just outside the park. As we
were taking a break and gassing up, a swarm of 6 bikes swooped in. They were a
hodgepodge of bikes. A Gold Wing, Aprilla, GS, and FZ to name a few.
They were from the Bay area on their way to Colorado. The group took a road trip
every year, "boys only", no wives or girlfriends. They reminded
me of a bunch of young boys on bicycles on their way to the swimming hole on a
hot day. Laughing and bantering back and forth, and making crude
jokes.
Bill Weiss and his K bike
I followed Bill into Tioga Pass. We paid our 10 bucks and Bill reminded me
to have my camera ready. T he Ranger advised me not to lose my ticket-"why,
they don't let ya outa the park if you lose it?" "No they make
ya pay again".
Traffic was light in the park, and I followed the blue K bike. Rising into
the higher elevations I got cold and stopped to zip up and to get my warm gloves
out. I looked up ahead and saw Bill, nothing but a shirt and pants, and NO
gloves. I wrote it off to the thin blooded southern boy, where anything
under 60 is cold. I thought back to how cold it gets in Idaho, and how
well Bill must be acclimated to the climate.
I was awestruck by the sheer power of Yosemite. We ride through the kind
of scenery you see in National Geographic. We stopped for pictures
numerous times.
Tenaya Lake
We rode SR 120 all the way across the park. Bill told me if I continued
all the way to El Capitan and Bridal Veil Falls, I might not make the Bay area
till after dark. "I am not coming to Yosemite and NOT see El
Capitan". That means I will turn on 140, and double back. Not a
big deal when El Capitan is in question.
The
Blunt Beauty of El Capitan
We arrived at The Falls and El Capitan in the late afternoon. They are
truly awesome natural wonders. The face of El Captian impresses me the
most. It is straight up. The Falls has a good water flow. Bill
told me that is not always the case.
After taking pictures it is time to leave, me for the Bay area, and Bill to San
Jose. I thanked him for his guidance and company. It was refreshing
not be alone. We exchanged email addresses and motored out. Bill
Weiss is good people.
Bridal Veil Falls
As I rode out from Yosemite, I thought about how lucky I was. It is a
great afternoon for a ride. I am surrounded by breathtaking scenery, and I
have the ENTIRE country at my disposal. I am free to go where I
want. There was no place I had rather been at that moment, then where I
was.
I begin my sojourn to the Bay area, by remaining on 120 west. The road
twists and turns more then in the park, and the pace is much quicker. I am
riding into a setting sun, and its hard to see.
I begin to think about entering the Bay area in the dark on a Friday
evening. It is not going to be a pleasant experience.
I contemplate pulling into one of the many campgrounds and make the Bay area in
the morning. I also think about the real bed and home cooked meal waiting
for me in Redwood City. After 6 consecutive nights in tent I was ready for
a bed, so I kept pushing.
In Cloverland, I bought more gas, and called Dennis to give him my
whereabouts. He advises I am 140 miles away, and his guest room was on
hold for me.
East bound traffic was picking up considerably because everyone was heading
somewhere for the weekend.
As I ride west the landscape is less spectacular. I am beginning to notice
urban sprawl, and the endless strip malls and fast food places.
On highway 108 I pulled alongside a SUV with a driver looking and straining in
all directions. Despite his California plates, I take him to be from out
of town, and prepare for him to cut me off, which he does a mile later.
I get to Manteka at dusk. I decided to call it a day and make the short
ride into the Bay area on a quiet Saturday morning, and not at Friday afternoon
rush hour.
A local motel is advertising a 29.95 rate and I take the bait. When I go
in all they have are 59 dollar rooms available. I pass and look for
another, but was unable to find a rate I could handle.
I whipped the ST into a quiet shopping center and went over my options. I
was not that far from my goal, but on the other hand I would have to negotiate
the Bay area in the dark, on a crowded unfamiliar expressway. A
combination I loathe. I decided to shoot for Dennis' house, and reap the
rewards.
It gets dark all too quick, and I am riding west into the Bay area on 205 then
580.
I have been riding motorcycles over 30 years but nothing prepared me for
580. I was very nervous. Millions of cars were east bound away from
the Bay. The west bound side was not as congested, but it was still unlike
anything I had seen. I was not able to take the offensive and ride the far
left. Traffic was just too congested and too fast. I would not be
able to avoid anything in the road at 95 mph in the dark. That was the speed I
was going to have to cruise to ride with the big boys. Add the fact I did
not know where my exits were, so I remained in the right lane. I dreaded
the entrance ramps, long lines of cars were looking to merge in my lane. I
had to time my arrival with them to slip in the gaps. Cars were passing me
way too close to my left at 90 mph. My slow speed was exposing me to being run
over pure and simple.
I noticed the 880 split, but I could not get over there. Just too much
traffic, noway can I cross 5 lanes in the dark, and not get nailed. I just
stayed on 580. My plan was to go to the next exit and come back. I
crossed into the Oakland City limits and take the first exit.
The exit takes me down from the freeway straight into the
"Hood". I quickly size up the area, and run the red light. Not
going to stop I say. I see shady characters walking up and down the street, and
all eyes are upon me. It is obvious I am from out of town, and probably
have a few bucks on me. I go down a few more blocks, and make a U
turn. I run the light again on the way back to 580. My feet never
touched the ground.
I finally find 880 and follow the signs to the San Mateo Bridge. Traffic
lightens up, and I am feeling like I am going to make it. It is cold and
my touring gloves and vented Roadcrafter are inadequate.
I rolled into the toll plaza and not sure what to do. I ask how much it is
and have to dig my money out. I promptly dropped my fare on the road and
have to get off to retrieve it. The cages behind me are patient and no
horns blow.
I kept telling myself, "cross the bridge and you're there". The
wind blew me from side to side as I went up and over. The lights of the
surrounding city are beautiful.
I locate SR 101 south, and go to Redwood City.
I find the first phone in Redwood, and call Dennis to announce my arrival.
A few minutes later a identical ST rides in. I was never so glad to see
someone. Dennis arrives with his son Tommy on pillion. We exchange
greetings, and quickly get enroute to Dennis' house.
We back the STs in the garage and Tommy helps me unload. Dennis lovely and
gracious wife Norma, comes out to give me another warm welcome.
I am totally wrung out from the ride into the Bay area.
Norma has a hot meal ready for me and it was very good. The Ryan's make me
feel at home. I take a shower and get ready for bed. I am still
winding down from the harrowing ride, and relish the quiet.
It was a 571 mile day.
Laying in bed I could still hear the cars zipping by me. I drifted off to
sleep thinking about Alice's the next morning, and meeting fellow ST riders from
the web site. It is going to be ride to remember tomorrow.
