Joining the Jungo Boogie 100 Club - Winnemucca to Gerlach, NV

Arriving in Winnemucca along US95, I refuel, check time, and hunt
down Jungo Road.  It's a nice, paved local road without much traffic.
Just as I whip on the PIAA 910's I'm greeted by the sight of a cow
broadside in the road.  Grabbing the binders, Bossie looks at me
and ambles away.  Whew! You think deer are bad?  Within 2 miles,
the pavement of Jungo Rd ends and a hard-packed gravel road begins.
It's not too bad and I can see the bad spots under the intense light
of the PIAAs so there's no problem with continuing on at a reduced
pace.

The first 50 miles in is hard pack gravel (Sulfur is just a mine, not a
town). Top speed ~45 mph.  "Heck, 100 miles of this ain't too bad. I'll
still make Bruno's by 9 to 10pm and plenty of time before the 2am
(local time) window for the SS2K."

From that point, you follow the Y to the left and it leads to the mine
entrance - fenced and No Trespassing signs abound.  Also you now
realize the glow in the sky in the distance wasn't Gerlach, but
was the mine (wilderness ops military training types will understand
this reference).  You look at the blocked entrance, and look at
the GPS (which still insists you're on the right road). Then you
look at the entrance, and then wonder if you have to get permission
to pass through the mine to continue onward, and return to the GPS.
As you sit there on your bike wondering what's what, and how to
approach the mine for access, someone comes down from on high in
their truck and explains this is the private road to the mine. What
you want is the public road. "Take the Y to the right instead of
to the left."

Backtracking to the Y, I make the branch to the right and find that
the first 50 miles were the "improved" section. Jungo deteriorates
rapidly from here on and the "Boogie" begins. We're talking 25 mph
trails that would be fun in a Jeep or on dual sport bike.  I glance
at the GPS and see: 1h 30m to the junction of SR447.  It's still
plenty "do-able" before Bruno locks the doors and leaves me sleeping
in the IB Motel for the cold, cold night.

An hour, and countless jackrabbits later, I am now reduced to long
stretches of sub-15-mph trail with occasional spurts of 25 mph
section, frequent washboard surfaces where the Wing wants to wander,
wallow, and raise my adrenaline levels while "boogying" in the
general direction of my next waypoint. I glance at the GPS and see:
1h 30m to the junction of SR447.  I've gone all of 15 miles in
the past hour!  I consider going back, but it's an hour to the
midway point and an hour back to US95.  Then about 300 miles or
so to Gerlach via the reasonable route.  I press on.  After all,
it's only an hour and a half and I now have only about 40 miles to
go.

An hour later, and even more jackrabbits later, the road hasn't
gotten better.  It may have even gotten worse.  More than once
I've thought about turning back.  The demon orange eye of the GPS
keeps glaring at me. I seem to go farther and yet it's a major
accomplishment with the ETA time drops below 1h 30m.  It's become
a big thing when it drops below 1h 30m and doesn't climb back
above that point again.  I've had plenty of time to consider
my sanity, but determined to press on as each mile brought me
simultaneously closer to my destination and farther from civilization
and sanity.

Glows in the horizon were a thing of the past - in all directions.
Other vehicles were never to be seen again. Road signs were a mix of
old and new.  New signs warned of road conditions. "Slipper when
wet" was a concern since the farther SW I went the more often I
saw damp spots in the road. Speed limit signs mocked me as I
forced the Land Barge beyond design limits. "Dip" signs were
especially understated since the last thing I would have considered
a dip would be a gully 15' deep and 30' across. These were
obviously washes where desert flash floods surged when conditions
were right. Jungo Road continued through all of these. So did I.
Older road signs told the story of ages past. Wooden, ragged edged,
hand painted signs beckoned me on toward Gerlach. After all it was
only 32 miles away (or was that 32,000 miles?). Other destinations
were also noted on the cross pieces of these signs from the days of
Roy Rogers and Gabby Hayes.  However the letter was weather worn and
the lighting at the wrong angle to read them clearly. Besides that
my focus had to remain on keeping the bike going forward and not
down.

The following hours creaped past and the new encouragement from
the Orange demon on the handlebars was to break the 1 hour ETA
barrier and keep it there. Thoughts of "Killer Kamikaze Jackrabbits"
were hashed and rehashed.  However at the less-than-mirror-breaking
speeds I was running at the jackrabbits were dancing around in
front of the bike; running backwards, dancing sideways, stopping
to thumb their noses at me (with whatever jackrabbits use for thumbs),
and dashing on after their repeated taunts. On one occasion, at
the edge of the PIAAs, I saw the ghostly shape of a deer as it
appeared to glide completely across the road in a single leap.
The most endangered species out in the middle of nowhere this
night (besides me and the bike) were desert mice. This little
nasties were scurrying along the sides of the road in force. Those
brave enough to follow their jackrabbit cousins in front of the
chattering front forks were occasionally ground to a pulp as they
succumbed to the weight of the GL1500GS. "Killer Kamikaze Mice" just
doesn't have the same ring.

Thoughts of breaking down, never to be seen again, were a constant
companion. 2 tanks of fuel, a large bike burning in the desert
blackness, water and food (Cliff bars and jackrabbits that my M40 might 
down) were all considered under the constantly percolating contingency 
plans. And ever I pressed on. Trying to push faster and Jungo Road 
pushing back harder to make me keep the speed under 15 mph for fear 
of breaking the suspension. Jungo had also chosen to vary itself to 
include rising and falling sweepers on surfaces as soft and sifting as
baby powder, more "dips", more puddles, and more (and more, and more)
washboards. Concerns about shredded tires from the rocks, busted fork
seals from the harsh surface merged with shatter nerves, pounded wrists 
and joints into a single soul numbing wall that had to be ripped asunder.
 
Eternities followed eternities as I broke the 1 hour, the 45 min,
and the 30 min barriers on the GPS.  Finally I crossed the last of
the desert hills and a small cluster of lights was visible in the
distance. GERLACH! Crossing the last rise before seeing ABQ, NM
at night when approaching from the west had never been as beautiful
a sight. So near and, yet, so far. Even as close as I was to SR447,
Jungo never relaxed its attack. That last 5 miles took at least
15 minutes. Fifteen eternities because the night jewel of Gerlach
was so temptingly close. Now it was a test of time. It was quickly
approaching 11pm local time and that's when Bruno closes up shop
and those who haven't checked in yet are left with few options.
 
I finally turned onto SR477 and turned north, twisting the throttle
as far and as hard as my tortured wrists could force it. A false
pass around the hotel earned me a visit with another patron who
directed me up the road to the saloon where Bruno's "Office" was.
Back on the road, half a mile farther north, off the bike, in
the door and it was over. 10:57pm!  Bruno and one customer were the
only faces to look up as I walked in. I'm not sure what they
thought about the idiot who just did the Jungo Boogie 100 on a
street bike. A signed business card from Bruno stopped the clock
for the SS2k with about 2 hours to spare. A comped can of Guinness
from Bruno washed down the dust and determination. And a short,
easy ride back to the motel ended a most unique personal journey.
 
Thursday nights sleep was deep and uninterrupted. An early breakfast
Friday morning had me back at the hotel in time to greet John Cheney
as he pulled in.  A lazy afternoon around Gerlach had us both itching
for the festivities to begin.  Seeing Warchild pull in and head
inside for some quick sack time was our first indication that this
town was about to start jiving!

....
Copyright Mark Johnson 1999, Fort Worth, Texas

Note: This ride was done as the last 100 miles of my Saddle Sore
2000 ride (2 sequential 1000 mile days).