| The phrase "Be careful what you wish
for. It just may come true." no sooner rattled through the space between my ears when
the radiator of my van carrying me, my stuff and pulling my trailer and R100GS decided to
water the desert 250 miles from any mechanic with metric tools. My wish to sometime ride "the loneliest highway in
America" soon became reality as I coasted down the pass to an angle of repose by the
side of the road. The temperature gauge fell out of sight never to return to its
reassuring neutral position. I listened to the last spurt of steam escape into thin air
along with any hope of a $3.00 "Stop-Leak" quick fix. The chance of arriving in
Northern California for my promised birthday dinner was obviously not going to happen.
Glancing in the rear view mirror at the black beauty behind me waiting patiently in her
tie-downs, I donned riding gear, locked up the stuff, and headed off for the nearest signs
of life. The warm wind in my helmet and the feel of the road brought back the knowledge
that this too (the breakdown) would pass and I had mixed emotions when seeing Ely's
outline in the near horizon after only 40 miles. A search for Mr. Goodwrench failed to
produce a willing volunteer. All mechanics were either hunting, on vacation, in court or
down with the flu. The truth was they really don't like to work on foreign cars that are
just passing through.
The nice tow truck man directed me to the only other
solution, the U-Haul man. He did have a large truck to pull my van but unfortunately no
dolly to load it on. A phone call to the next depot did have one I could get in the
morning only 120 miles to the north. A sleepless night in the cargo bed by the side of the
road and a start at the crack found me at the new place to retrieve said dolly which was
not there. My stomach ache reached ulcer proportions and the developing red rash turned to
hives and I was resigned to spending the day waiting for a dolly to appear. I was in
Wendover, Nevada an Interstate stopover that took all of 5 minutes to explore, the best
prospect to while away the hours was to shower and sleep. I found a $4 shower in the
"Trucker's Lounge". Feeling conspicuous and somewhat outnumbered by "men on
the move" who I guess live in establishments such as these, I double locked the door,
stripped down, ran the water and discovered there was no soap or shampoo. Pretending this
was just a dress rehearsal, I donned my grubbies and went out to buy the missing soap.
That shower, a cheap breakfast at a gaudy casino and a nap across the cab of the U-Haul
did wonders to my attitude and stamina as I waited patiently all afternoon for a dolly to
appear. It did, just minutes before closing and I was again on my way back to retrieve my
rig.
The tow truck guys loaded trailer and motorcycle in the
truck and the van on the dolly. I headed west with the sinking sun . A few hours later,
much in need of diesel I got a lesson in how NOT to get gas. In order to reach the filler
cap of the truck I had to drive the truck between the pumps and the convenience store. Bad
idea, I was wedged in so that to go forward I would mow a pump down with the dolly's left
wheel and to go in reverse promised a missing right rear view mirror or severe damage to
the store's vinyl siding. So stuck I was. The proprietor threatened me with calling the
police or her husband who were one and the same. I explained my long day and when that
didn't draw her sympathy I barred my fist with threats and mention of my Karate belts. We
were at a standoff in the inches between truck and store when along came 3 inebriated oil
rig cowboy types who offered to help. They pushed the van off the dolly, straightened it
behind the truck as I inched forward. Securing the van back on the dolly, I was back in
business. I bought them a 6 pack for their efforts and for me a cloisonnŽ pin that
read "I survived Route 50". Might as well think positive.
Around midnight I pulled into a campground of sleeping
travelers as quietly as a diesel engine can and spent another sleepless night rehashing
the day, the expenses and wondering if the road I parked on was a circle or would I have
to back this beached whale out to the highway?
Route 50 connects to I-80 and soon Reno was in sight. The
car dealer couldn't see me for a week. No crying or ranting could budge him. Sierra
Foreign Car Service took pity and fit me in. "It's your radiator," they
explained.
"No surprise !" I answered. Now to get rid of
the whale.
There is a God! He revealed himself as the owner of
"Two College Guys", a Packing and Moving Company in Sparks, Nevada and the best
news was his willingness to help me unload my trailer and bike from the belly of the
whale, as he too was a BMW rider (R1100RT), in fact he rode it to work the next morning to
show me. He liberated me from the truck, stored the trailer and set me free to frolic in
Reno's gaming establishments. I opted for a hot shower, clean sheets on a real bed and
nine hours of shut eye.
With a new radiator, a reconnected trailer and a fond
"adios," I again headed west. Stopping for gas, I met a nice guy named Doug who
wanted to peek at the Beemer under its spandex shroud as I checked out the Airstream he
was pulling. I've always wanted one as a guest house in my back yard. We ended up sharing
a lunch booth and swapping more travel stories (his were almost as good as mine} and
celebrating a joint birthday that very day. Coincidences aside, he promised to follow me
up Donner Pass for moral support and even though the gauge did start to rise it never
threatened to send me over the edge. Route 101 and the remainder of the trip north went
without incident. The promised leg of lamb dinner and champagne that awaited me in
Northern California, my final destination, was a perfect ending to a memorable trip.
I still plan to ride the GS on that long and lonely road
someday and I'm bringing a spare drive shaft and shop manual with me as my latest wish is
to become a motorcycle mechanic.
Joanie is a freelance artist dividing her time between
Boulder, Colorado and Covelo, California. She works as little as possible but enough to
sustain her drug of choice; motorcycles and the people who ride them. |
