Viva Las Vegas (continued)
by: goon73
So I begin my return trip with a sense of calm and closure. I had finally completed the trip my way, on a bike. Now all I had to do was the quick return trip and get back to my life. Get back to the woman waiting for me undoubtedly at a casino somewhere, get back to our hotel room, and get over the woman that fucked me over so bad in the past. I am not sure what all I left out there in the desert, but one thing was the memory of the worst year of my life; spiritually, emotionally, that was all behind me now.
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As I travel over the first hill I look down to see that instead of showing half a tank my gas gauge now reads bone dry, the reserve light is staring at me, and the remaining mileage on the odometer is showing 0. Slight panic begins to crawl in the back of my mind. And I pull over to inspect the contents of my gas tank, Did I hit a rock and rip the tank somehow?? No, there seems to be a little gas in there, definitely not a half a tank, but there is some; it has to be the Harley Gauge I was warned about. I decide to keep making my way back to the highway rather than take my chances with the military guards. After all the closer I get to civilization the less I will have to walk. The road back seems to be harder than on the way there. |
I can’t seem to find the ruts and when I come to the cross roads I have a decision to make, head back down the shortcut adding valuable mileage one roads I have already traveled, or continue the direct path to the Highway.
I choose the direct path, and a half mile down the road I decide it was the wrong choice. They have graded the road, and there seems to be a little less loose gravel, but the grader has left track marks in the road effectively washboarding the entire road. My traveling speed is now 10 mph. Panic is creeping up in my mind, did I bite off more than I can chew on this ride.
Am I gonna get back out of here?
Am I going to run out of gas?
Damn, just keep going. I calm myself down; force myself to keep moving ahead fighting with this 674 lb motorcycle on this gravel washboard. Up ahead in the distance (distances can really be deceiving out there in the desert) I see a glimmer. Is it a vehicle? I keep moving forward, knowing each foot of this road that I pass is just that much closer to civilization and now to that vehicle up ahead. About twenty minutes later I have discerned that it is a motorcycle heading towards me, and as we near each other we stop in the middle of the road. I ask how far the road is, and he asks how the boundary is. I get off the bike to show him my pictures and almost fall over. It instantly hits me, I am dehydrated. I hadn’t drunk any of my water since I went out in the desert which by now has been well over an hour and wrestling with the bike has sapped all of my strength. I find out I only have another 4 miles to go and decide to suck it up and keep moving, worst case scenario the other biker will find me on his way out. I motored ahead, slowly, and somehow covered the last 4 miles fairly uneventfully. I stopped at the crossroads and take a picture looking back down the road that had taken me over an hour and a half to travel less than 13 miles.
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Obviously, I made it out of the desert. I made it back to Alamo on fumes and filled the tank up while I rehydrated. I blasted back across the desert highway at 95 and called the girlfriend as I neared Vegas. When I got back to the room she had the Jacuzzi filled in the room when I walked in. I left a lot of bad memories out there on that dirt road, and realize I have a pretty damn badass old lady now. Sometimes you have to face the past head on to know where you are headed. |
-goon73
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