Mass Gold

Having a little farther to go than some and less than others to get to 
Gerlach, I opted to leave on Wednesday morning. I rolled into Reno a 
little early, but that gave me time to find a room, clean up from the 
road and unpack the bike a little. Chuck was a great host and it was 
fun to visit with everyone in the relaxed surroundings.

Rolling into Gerlach for an early tech check left me most of the day to 
get worn out hanging around. Kicking tires is hard work. I overheard 
some side planning that I misunderstood, heard rumors of Jungo Road 
being in the route, and total miles that kept changing. I ended up 
reverse-psyching myself out by the time the rider packs were handed out 
after Bruno’s excellent feast. Thank goodness Jungo Road was just a joke. 
I would have had a cow and probably dropped out without trying. 
Accidentally is one thing. On purpose, on a Wing is insane.

That night was my typical sleepless night. I was later informed by Kirk 
that I did get some sleep as I snored enough to wake him up from his 
snoring.  Good news for certain, as any minute of sleep I got would be 
needed later.

I had a 7:04 am start time and later learned it’s best to leave as early 
as possible so that you are the ones stirring up the LEOs instead of 
being one of the ones that gets clamped down on by roving “wolf packs” 
of holiday-working hard cases. Don’t get me wrong. I never received a 
performance award. I just noticed the heavy LEO presence due to it being 
a holiday weekend.

Within 30 minutes of departure I was already screwed. I was so anti-
psyched that I had written the drop dead times for each required stop 
nearest each quarter of the ride so I could bag it if I was behind. Now, 
this early in the game, I hit that pot hole of death we were warned was 
just before the border into California. It was AFTER the border and I 
hit it so hard my CD changer jammed; forcing me to listen to talk radio 
and every hick country station within a zillion miles of the loop we made.  
All those specially burned CD’s of Pantera, Metallica, Ozzy, Rob Zombie, 
and more… just sitting there useless. ARRRRRRGGGGHHH!!!  It wasn’t until 
I was well around that part of the valley that I noticed the shadow of 
the bike (cast by the new angle of the sun) looked strange. I glanced 
back and my tail trunk was wide open. YIKE!  I pulled over, checked, and 
found the rider pack was missing.  I determined to ride on and document 
the ride (thank goodness for 3x5 cards with notes of each turn). But it 
nagged at me enough, I pulled over again, noted the mileage, turned back 
to where I suspected the trunk had opened and tried to find the pack. No 
luck all the way back to the pot hole from Hell, so I noted the 2nd turn 
around mileage to insure corrected odo readings and headed on when I 
noticed the manila envelope off to the side of the road in the sage brush. 
YIPPEE!  But my time really sucked now and I’d passed at least 3 riders 
when I had turned back.  Yoiks and away I went. (Little did I know that 
I had also lost my favorite cap – well, 2nd to my autographed Penn & 
Teller cap at the same time.)

About the time I was coming toward the sharp junction of CA299 and US395, 
my V1 went nuts. I tossed out the anchor, but not with the skill I later 
learned and practiced on my return trip home. I suspect the patrol car 
was going to turn around and started to slow when it dawned on me how far 
a lead I’d have on him by the time he could find a place, so high tailed 
it up US399 for the OR border without further incident. Nice countryside 
through here with lakes and plenty evidence of mankind’s ability to force 
nature to his needs (irrigation).

Was it already mentioned that OR sucks? The road is the same, but the 
speed limit drops from 75 to 55. And their gas station practices have been 
discussed at length already. I was able to flash fill in Lakeview before 
anyone noticed, paid and was on my way. I think it was here that Joe Z and 
I bumped into each other for the first time.  I did the odo check on 140 
and was rolling again quickly. I think it was here that I saw where the 
rider on “Starship” (sorry for not remembering which rider it was) was in 
a pull out area, so stopped to see if he needed help. I’d taken Ron Smith’s 
advice and unloaded as much as I could to lighten the Wing for better fuel 
economy. This meant all tools but the OEM tool kit, so I was as useless as 
tits on a bore hog. I didn’t even have a cell phone because I’d forgotten 
to pack it when I left for the trip. It wasn’t until now that I even realized 
it. I did however had a roll of TP that I’d packed for some reason yet never 
needed (never packed that before – whazup wi dat?). I made sure he was okay 
and the rider eventually waved me on with assurances he had things under 
control and wasn’t “in danger”. I wicked it up and worked on making up the 
accumulating delays.

In Denio Junction, Cuz Z pulled in behind me as I was wrapping up the 
required photo. The Wing was thirsty, but Joe was able to motor on and got 
ahead of me here. OR205 was fun, but not like 140. I ended up stuck for 10 
minutes at the mandatory refueling in Burns as 2 SUVs blocked the pumps 
while they decided to repack. By the time I got to the pumps several more 
riders had pulled in. I couldn’t get the gas jockey to let me pump my own 
fuel in spite of the usual hand-the-nozzle-to-the-biker trick they usually 
pull.  While nursing him through the main/aux routine, I asked if they were 
insured for damage they caused to paint and bike parts. He slowly answered 
(EVERYTHING he did was slow) that it’d never happened before. I later heard 
he knocked a bike over. As I was pulling out I heard Kerry Church expound 
the painful details of pending legislation that would assure the rest of 
the world that slugs like this would be without a job before long.  I had 
to smile as I watched one rider head west as I hoped my swing to the east 
and north was right.

Grabbing 20 toward ID I climbed toward the sky and some high planes flames. 
The road surface was pretty rough, but times were good in spite of the state 
ignoring their obligation to make sure fast and smooth are properly combined. 
It was along US20 that I saw my “savior” for the first time. One (unnamed) 
rider seemed to have made it his personal goal to stop and chat with every 
LEO along the way so they would be distracted as we tooled along past them 
innocently. I think this same ride did this for me on at least one or two 
other occasions. Thank you, sir. You are entirely too kind. He another rider 
and I all caught each other at the mandatory fuel stop in Ontario before 
grabbing the slab south.

Idaho drivers. YEE DAWGS, Man! Who slapped them up side the head with a 
truck load of stupid?  -20 mph of the posted speed limit and they plant 
themselves in the left lane, wander aimlessly around their lane position, 
ignore streams of people passing on the right, and are joined by their 
cohorts oblivious to the world around them. At least in Dallas the idiots 
are FAST idiots.  It was along I84 that my wrist finally gave me enough 
fits that I had to rest it. My cruise only sets at NV+3 and my throttle 
lock was not tight enough, so depending on it resulted in a gradual 
decreased in speed until I was at max cruise again. And remember, I left 
all my tools back in Gerlach. I figured I’d sip fuel for this leg and make 
time via fuel economy all the way to Snowville by managing the thirsty Wing. 
It was not to be. After being passed by my benefactor (and maybe a few 
others), I still had to refuel early. I went ahead and wicked it back up 
after the early fuel/water/glasses-change stop and passed one of my 
benefactors just enough that I was leading by the time we both pulled out 
of Snowville and pointing west along UT30.

Heading along UT30 it was getting dark early due to storm clouds – in our 
direction of travel. I hit my PIAAs and maintained a respectable speed. 
Slightly distracted, I looked down at the GPS just in time to save missing 
the UT30 split. It would have been very easy to keep going straight and be 
on UT42. Dancing along the storm line had me heading straight into the worst, 
then turning away, then back at it again, then away again. At least the 
road lent itself to getting my night legs. 

Before too long it was well dark and I was on I84 heading into Wells. What 
a treat listening to the brothels advertise to the truckers on the CB. Now 
THAT’S quality entertainment! It was about this time I crested a hill and 
saw the back end of a car over the rise on the shoulder. I hit the binders 
hard (but not as hard I I later learned others could) just as my V1 went 
nuts and it seemed like simultaneously the lights on top of the patrol car 
lit up like the 4th of July. By the time I got slowed down enough to pull 
safely to the shoulder (NV posted speeds being what they are) I had passed 
a silver bike with a familiar rider who was just wrapping up a personal anger
management session with out new mutual friend. Mr. Friendly explained to me 
that he got a lock on me well below the point where he bothers to write 
tickets, but was visiting with all riders tonight as part of his personal 
outreach ministry to the road weary. When I explained I was on a pre-2001 
Gold Wing we both laughed at the ludicrous idea of speeding. We exchanged 
pleasantries and he sent me on my way with a verbal warning to ride safely.  
What a nice gentleman. Heck, I never even approached Higdon 1 vein speed 
anywhere along the way. It is a Gold Wing after all. I did hang out around 
DoD Nominal most of the daytime though. The Bridgestone Excedras did very 
well.

It was here that we saw the last of the Interstate roads and headed back 
to the outback on US93 south (after another mandatory fuel receipt) and on 
to Ely. This must have been pretty uneventful as I don’t remember anything 
special other than needing to clean all the bugs off the top half of my 
windshield so I could see better. It may have been along this section where 
I saw the emergency flashers of a big Harley tour rig and pulled over to 
find the rider had stopped to help a dual sport rider pick up his dropped 
bike. Verifying that the situation was again well in hand, I got the nod 
to continue and rolled on. The PIAAs were working well, but could have been 
adjusted better. I think the pot hole of doom knocked one out of alignment, 
but at least no devilish rocks up the sides of any mountains were going to 
surprise me.

Pulling into Tonopah, grabbing a receipt at the pump, and hitting another 
lick on the top half of the windshield saw 2 more riders come pulling in to 
the Texico station. Neither’s pay-at-the-pumps worked, so I lucked out and 
was rolling again. One rider (Rick) commented that he’d been chasing me 
across the desert all night. Seeing my lights in the distance but never 
able to close the gap. I tossed my leg over the saddle and pulled away as I 
smiled and wished him luck. My stops in the second half were much better even 
though my speeds to greatly reduced due to visibility concerns. But even 1 910
adjusted properly and stepped down to 85 watts due to the Wings anemic charging 
system was enough to make a big difference in elapsed times.

Backtracking east in 6 I picked up NV376 and crested the hill to the tune of 
the V1. Unlike others, I never saw a darkened LEO to the side of the road. 
But it was just after the turn, so I was well within any posted limits and 
unconcerned.  However, it wasn’t long before I pass a convoy of like model, 
like color, like appointed SUVs traveling so evenly spaced as to be eerie 
in their alignment. Come to think of it, this NV6/376/375 are skirts Area 51. 
Hmm… Maybe Mass Gold riders weren’t the only UFOs out on the desert that night? 

Once clear of the prison area I wicked it up to get to Austin and was 
surprised at the rise in elevation. I was glad I’d put on the Widder vest 
(with arm chaps) at an earlier stop. It would come in handy the rest of the 
night. A false stop in one business with a sand/gravel parking lot and 
eventually I found the mandatory photo-op at the Mini Mart Shell station. 
Just as I was wrapping up the photo, the Harley rider (Dean Tanji) who had 
been helping the dual sport rider pulled in.  We were both in good spirits 
and shared at least a smile – and maybe a laugh – we were having fun!

Back out west on US50 and the loneliest highway isn’t nearly as impressive 
when all you can see is a tunnel of light blasting down the road. Knowing 
this was the long leg between refuel stops, I was back on the cruise and 
trying to sip the fuel as the Dean Tanji passed me (frigging fuel injected, 
50 mpg, razzle frazzle bikes). I don’t remember if I ever saw him again 
after that, but once I was sure I had enough reserve to get me to Fernley, 
I wicked it back up and watched the dawn creep across the sky in my mirrors.

In Fernley I saw the rider on the Blue GL1800 who knew the downtown bypass 
that needed to look at the riders pack to remember, so it wasn’t long before 
I lost him at the gas station.  From there it was light enough that the 
last shot up 447 was going to be a rocket sled ride into Hell!  Oops another 
LEO… and who put those hills here to the south?  Easy boy. No sense in going 
off the side of the mountain when the finish is this close. Clear the hills 
safely, THEN launch into warp. CRAP! A long arsed train right as I’m within 
shouting distance of the finish line!  As I pull in Ron Smith tells me they 
didn’t get there too far ahead of me. Since they left several slots earlier 
I feel a lot better than I did.  I didn’t make Ely before dark (like some 
were saying), but then the entire world’s a nail. I also have a better feel 
for what is demanded of a rider in a CG ride.

FINISHED!  WOW! I did it!

I later learned of the DNSs/DNFs and Mark’s get off. All bad news and I’m 
very happy to hear Mark’s okay. The closing brunch was a hoot and everyone 
had a story to tell.

The return trip was relatively uneventful. Tornadoes, severe weather, broken 
trees, power outages and power surges for 3 days in my folk’s hometown. 
Repairing blown electronics for them and then a shot home in time to crash 
and get to work today (Thursday). You know… mundane stuff.

Now where’s that Monkey Butt anti-virus software?

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(c) 2001 Mark Johnson