The trip wasn't going to be like ones from before, we knew that from the start. It was going to be long, it was going to be wet and at times, it was going to be miserable but nothing would deter us. We had literally gone over the sleds with a fine toothed comb for months.
The night before our departure we gave the girls a shake down run through the old downtown side of Vegas. It wasn't long till some over sights came to light. Shit! This ain't the way we wanted to start the trip. Todd's CB750 is jammin up. He pulls into a Terrible Herbst's gas station with flames shooting out of the four barrel exhaust that swept beneath the rigid frame of his chopper.
"I think one of coils are fuckin' up" Todd says. Upon further inspection, he sees a couple of sparkplug leads that had separated from the coil pack, causing a bad misfire. It was also at this time Todd expressed concern for the high oil temp and excessive heat the bike was putting off. I paused for a moment, then chuckled. "Dude it's 120 degrees out here; the bike's fine."
We finally made it to Dino's on the north end of the strip, most tourists never see this side of Vegas. It starts off with all the familiar elements, whiskey gingers, shit talkin' followed by flashing lights. What can I say, I look good in hand cuffs.
I woke up around seven, rolled out of bed around nine. Heads pounding, puffy bags around the eyes and a puddle of oil under the bike it's time to hit it. With fresh rubbers for the road, sour mash whiskey in the saddle bag and enough Marlboro's till we got to Utah, we always pack light.
Riding out of town through the Valley of Fire we hooked up to Interstate 15. The first night we took it as far as we could, digging our heels into the mud once we reached Salina, Utah. A charming little town in the middle of the dessert. The kind of place where all the town's residents are also first cousins.
The next day was an adventure. The area between Salina and Green River, Utah is sparse. It spans 110 miles, making it the longest distance anywhere in the nation's Interstate Highway System with no gas stations. Tales of highway pirates that prey on travelers and people disappearing into this remote stretch of highway as if they were swallowed up into a black hole.
This part of the ride sticks out as one of the most surreal places one could hope to see. Slicing through the ridgelines of jagged red slate rock, the road curved left then back to the right dropping several grades and climbing back up again. The walls closed in over the two lanes nearly blocking out the sun. With no one around you really begin to feel free for the first time.
By now Green River is still no where in sight Todd's bike started coughing. If the look on our faces could speak it would say, "fuck, this ain't good." Knowing he was probably outta gas we pulled over to the side of the road, we still had a little fuel left in a one liter bottle of Mountain Dew bungeed to the saddle bag. Pouring half into his tank and the other half into mine. We were back on our way... for a little while longer. The second time the CB 750 started coughing we were totally dry of auxiliary fuel.
I disconnected my fuel line from the carb and opened the petcock to let some gas into the empty mountain dew bottle. Once again we're back at it. Not ten minutes down the road my bike starts coughing from fuel starvation. The good news is we can see Green River about 4 or 5 miles up the highway. Holding onto Todd's shoulder he towed me the rest of the way into town. The picture below was taken after we got gas and arrived in Green River, Utah.
Looking back in time, we should have slowed the train down and appreciated the beautiful landscape of Colorado upon passing the state line. Alternatively, we blasted into Grand Junction like the pavement was dropping out from under our tires and transforming into a river of molten lava. 100mph switching lanes, slamming through toll booth gates and leaving splinters in the air behind us, we got off the highway just incase the fuzz came lookin'.
It began to get late and by this time and we were completely spent. With very little energy remaining we cruised around a little town I can't recall the name of, looking for a place to camp out for the night. Having better luck finding a liquor store we grabbed a couple of 40 ounces to keep us warm and slept on picnic benches at a nearby rest stop. It got surprisingly cold that night with temperatures dropping down into the high 30's.
The next morning we hooked up to HWY 82 south towards Aspen. Now I got really thirsty about this time so we swung into some little Irish pub near the center of town. I'll be honest, I had maybe two tree too many but these people are a bunch a tight asses. Once we were ready to split we started the sleds, not two seconds later, out front of Peach Café, some guy's hangin' over me yelling, "turn 'em off or get the hell outta here." So we lit a second cigarette and let the mills reach normal operating temperatures, then left.
Without a real destination in mind we kept on HWY 82. This road is riddled with blind turns zigzagging up the crest of the mountain side just shy of 13,000ft when you come upon Independence pass at the continental divide. For nothing more than telling the story later and the natural buzz; a race to the top versus a crotch rocket became more than just a little wreckless. Sometimes I think I pushed my point a little too hard with this guy but it ain't my fault he learned to ride at Little Mary's Riding School for girls. Enough jaw jockin. The picture below was taken at the top of Independence Pass.
The back roads of Colorado shouldn't be taken lightly, they can be quite unpredictable and menacing but the view is unmatched to anywhere else. After our little detour the ride transitioned northbound through Leadville, Colorado on Hwy 24. These pictures were taken during that time.
That night we spoiled ourselves like a couple a yuppies and stayed in a swanky suite overlooking Vail, Colorado. What can I say, the night before was pretty rough. We partied harder than hell that night in Vail. Got tossed out of one or two bars. How we avoided getting any new court dates evades me.
The next day we breezed through central Colorado hitting one pretty bad rain storm which required a stop at a laundromat in a little mining town. After the storm passed, we covered some ground making Lincoln, Nebraska where we stayed the night. We had a great time at The Office, a local club for gentlemen where we made some new friends.
The next day we crushed down 500 miles getting back into the Greater Chicagoland. I started to get a little worried around Morris, Illinois. Todd and I were riding side by side at the time. I looked down and saw flames with sparks flying out of his exhaust this time. The bike sounded like it was missing on a cylinder or two. Of course the sparks were probably a whole other issue We limped the bike in that night and stayed with old friends.
The next day's ride would end in Milwaukee on Water and Juneau at Scooters pub capping the trip off with friends and celebrating life and the ride of our lives.
All photos were taken with an LG flip phone and IPOD.
