It has been a long time.   Since my business crashed and burned over a year ago, I just haven’t had the or money time to ride.     Its in me to keep my family straight, and that’s my sacred trust to them.     I guess second to riding.

I had her covered up and put away.   Trickle charger in place, covered properly.   Fuel additive, fuel tank….. ready for winter.    Thank god the weather broke, and maybe my mojo.

So I loaded up the Road King.    I think the last time I was in Wendover Nevada was 1982, when I got certified in scuba diving.    I was just a kid, and I don’t remember much about the town.  I just needed a ride.    Things are starting to break for me again, and opening up a throttle over a new stretch of road seemed kinda right to me.      I was right.      The night before I found where the Enola Gay had taken off from Wendover, and that there was an Air Museum there and a whole lot of WWII buildings that haven’t changed much since the war.    Perfect.

The Enola Gay was the bomber that dropped the first atomic bomb on Japan.    Obviously, you know this.    I don’t know why I’m even typing it out.

About 40 miles out of town I got this image in my head that still haunts me.      It was an old man.   Obviously a biker (once you get it, you never really stop being one) who saw my bike with a sleeping bag on back who just kept staring at me.     After a few stop lights, he rolled down the window at the last intersection before I got on the freeway, and twisted his body around to give me the thumbs up.    I could see how old he was up close now.    I gave him the thumbs up back and he kept his in the air, and I wished I coulda taken a picture of his face.    he was serious and waved me on as I got on the freeway.   I opened her up, and thought about that old man for the next 50 miles.     That might be me someday;   old, can’t keep my bike vertical in the garage let alone a freeway, and being hauled around in a cage by someone who has no idea what the open road looks like.     I almost wish I coulda gone back to that moment and shook his hand.       I can tell a fake, and this guy wasn’t.    He’d weathered some miles before.    I don’t know why it struck me so much.      I’ve had the looks before.   The nervous moms peeking sideways at the bearded biker next to their car.    The young kid who just wants to be free and can’t tell the difference between a Honda and a Harley      The girls who just want to wave….  the guy who’s got a bike in his garage, Harley sticker on his truck and just wants to show me up….     This guy was the real deal.       I’ll never know his stories, but I’d bet my paycheck he had some great ones.     I could see it in his eyes.

Rode up through Fairfield Utah, Found a place to put a few rounds through my 9, and felt myself starting to breathe.    Remembered why I love riding so much.   It was almost a religious experience.

There is new territory up here.    I’ll be honest, I miss the desert.    The history is different up here, and the terrain lends to different riding.    Some people think a long straight road in Nevada is like having their appendix removed.    To me, its good.    The weather was cool and there wasn’t many bikes on the road.    I hit Tooele, hung a left and headed through the salt flats.    More history…

Man, I gotta say…  I might have been converted from a Street Glide to a Road King.      Either way, I love this bike.    I opened her up a couple times, and she’s pretty comfortable at 120.    Speedo got pegged, and she had more in her.     The RK is a pleasure to tour on.

Got pulled over on the Nevada side for not having a helmet, grabbed a burger and a bottle of good scotch and headed back to the KOA to pitch my tent and sum up what I’d just learned, Again.    I can’t go too long without a good ride.    I swear to god it puts years on my life.

 

The next morning I waited for it to warm up, packed the bike slow and headed out by 10.    Went down to Wendover Airfield.

Really cool little museum.

The rest of the base was almost the best part.  You can tell it has struggled on funding, and to me that’s half the appeal.      Its rusty gold, cleaned up but nowhere polished.    Maybe the closest thing to being in 1945.      Some of the buildings were sold off after the war, and others just have signs and are waiting for money before they can restore them.      Either way, you can walk through it all and get a feel of what it was like to live on this base during the great war.      This was where all the training happened for what ended world war II.     The whole place reeks of history.      Man, Awesome.

 

 

 

From even a couple of years ago, the Enola Gay Hanger was falling in on itself.     They’ve spent some money to restore it.    I could only see it from the outside.     There’s an 8 hour tour they do once a year, and I suspect I’ll be the only guy without gray hair that goes to it.   (fuck if I know If I have any gray hair, I got no hair!).   Either way, I’ll go next year.    This place has a lot of ghosts.

 

The rest was great.   I had planned to spend more time, but got a call from my family that needed my attention and forced me to head home earlier than I wanted.   All good.    I’ll come back.    Wendover is no ones vacation but mine I think.

Ride hard.    -MrZip66

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398 Miles, 2 days.