Redfish Hunter
Gone Fishing
Tuesday 5/30/17
A quick IHOP Breakfast, some route discussion, and we crossed the bridge into Laughlin Nevada and Hwy 163. Then we turned north on Hwy 95 toward Searchlight NV. Then a turn west on Hwy 164 which just happens to be The Joshua Tree Highway! As soon as I saw the sign I knew that hppants was going to be happy. And he was.
I am not as enamored with these very tough trees as my friend hppants but his happiness was a joy to see. I knew he had been bitterly disappointed that he did not have time to see Joshua Tree National Park. This was a surprise and a gift for us all. We wandered around and I tried to get him to saw one down so we could see how old it was. He wisely declined.
Soon after that we were in California. In that part of the world California is neither glamorous nor exciting. It's just dry. And brown.
hppants and I had decided (it was his idea!) that we would dip southward into the Mojave National Preserve. It is hard to describe this because it is so foreign to me, so different from anything that I had ever experienced. There were Joshua trees and there were mountains surrounding us but they did not look cool or inviting like the Rockies or the Smokies. We passed a sanctuary for the desert tortoise but it was closed. Pop and I wondered how they might taste and if they could really outrun a rabbit like that story said.
While I was riding through this strange landscape my mind was showing me flashes of old Louis L'amour novels. The Lonesome Gods became a reality for me, I finally saw what the author tried to show me in those long forgotten pages.
Then it hit me that I was in California. Really in California. A place so far away that it was not a reality for me. Against all odds I had ridden a motorcycle from the damp green swamps of Louisiana all the way to this strange and wonderful place. Not only had I done it, I had brought my father with me. There he was in my mirror, a constant shadow. I had really Accomplished Something. And I had my dear friend hppants along with me too. That was a special and emotional time for me. I was so proud of Pop for being the tough old man that he is. I was overwhelmed and it is possible that I shed a tear or two inside my Shoei.
Back to reality.
I could see the road making a turn and stretching out to infinity and I just had to stop for a picture.
This picture in fact:
If you look you can see the road going toward the top left side of the picture.
Of course it took a while for me to get the bike stopped, dig the camera out, get the picture, get the camera back in... 'Pants had to turn around to see what was wrong. Then, the most horrible thing happened. A whole crew of Harleys and Indians rumbled past. Over a dozen of them, a vast rolling road block that was sure to slow us down to a crawl and be virtually impossible to pass. I stared in amazement, then in horror. My friend hppants saw my expression (I am NOT a poker player!) and wondered what was wrong. I was too pissed with myself to answer him. I just waved him on. There was a small glimmer of hope when I saw that the last thing in line was a van with a Harley on a trailer. It also occurred to me that there were no loud pipes, only the deep factory rumble of the American V-Twins.
Wonder of wonders, it was a European tour group. They stayed plenty fast on the roller coaster roads of that desert area. We all stopped for a break at Kelso Depot. This was an oasis in the desert and had some interesting history. The museum was closed.
The Tour Group. There were 14 of them. They each paid $800 a day for two weeks to tour the American West.
I can just picture Pop's expression when I try to explain why he owes me a little more than expected for this trip. What's $11,200 when you're family? I may cut him a "family discount" and make it an even $10K.
We started north to join up with I-15 at Baker CA. Just as we were leaving a well dressed lady in a white Mercedes pulled up and started asking Pop for directions. hppants was already rolling, I was impatient... Turns out she was trying to tell Pop that I-15 was a 50 mile traffic jam and we needed to head south for I-40 instead. So we rode 30 miles North and immediately rode that same 30 miles back. We made a 60+ round trip to Baker CA to see an epic traffic jam.
We headed back south, me feeling stupid for not being more patient with Pop and his lady friend. It started getting warm.
It was somewhere at this point that I had to explain to my friend hppants why I was so pissed off when I stopped to take that picture. I knew that my slow, stupid camera work had caused us to get stuck behind all those slow bikes. 'pants was of course happy to know that I was not upset with him. He went to his bike and presented me with a neck tether. He showed me how to attach my camera to this and taught me how to take pics on the run. Of course it was FJR red and had ULL Ragin Cajun all over it but I was thrilled.
I did my best to take decent pics later to pay him back for that wonderful gift.
We tried to get on Rte 66 but that section was closed so we jumped on I-40. It wasn't that bad, it was pretty scenic. We got off and rejoined Rte. 66 and it was awful. The pavement was terrible. Worse than terrible. We got back on the interstate. It was 102 degrees.
We pulled off for gas and I had not one but two pumps that refused to cooperate. My temper was getting short, we finally got gas and then the HD and Indian mounted tour group exited the interstate and took Rte. 66 right in front of us. Hppants and I both wondered what the tour guide knew that we did not. We were both on the same page but neither one of us wanted to say anything. Fortunately hppants did voice he thought, we did communicate and by mutual consent we took Rte. 66 from there all the way to Barstow.
From Barstow we took Hwy 58 then 395 north to Ridgecrest. We found a mediocre chain motel in Ridgecrest and found a decent supper at Casey's. Our waitress Rachell was quite lovely but was apparently immune to my charms. The fact that we were right in front of the gate for the China Lake Naval Air Station probably meant that she got a lot of attention. She was a good waitress though.
At our hotel there was a gathering of Combat Veterans riding their motorcycles to San Diego for a meeting of some kind. The first one there was on a Triumph Rocket III Touring and had done a SS1K to get there. We would see him again much later in this trip.
We shared a couple beers and called it a night in boring Ridgecrest CA.
A quick IHOP Breakfast, some route discussion, and we crossed the bridge into Laughlin Nevada and Hwy 163. Then we turned north on Hwy 95 toward Searchlight NV. Then a turn west on Hwy 164 which just happens to be The Joshua Tree Highway! As soon as I saw the sign I knew that hppants was going to be happy. And he was.
I am not as enamored with these very tough trees as my friend hppants but his happiness was a joy to see. I knew he had been bitterly disappointed that he did not have time to see Joshua Tree National Park. This was a surprise and a gift for us all. We wandered around and I tried to get him to saw one down so we could see how old it was. He wisely declined.
Soon after that we were in California. In that part of the world California is neither glamorous nor exciting. It's just dry. And brown.
hppants and I had decided (it was his idea!) that we would dip southward into the Mojave National Preserve. It is hard to describe this because it is so foreign to me, so different from anything that I had ever experienced. There were Joshua trees and there were mountains surrounding us but they did not look cool or inviting like the Rockies or the Smokies. We passed a sanctuary for the desert tortoise but it was closed. Pop and I wondered how they might taste and if they could really outrun a rabbit like that story said.
While I was riding through this strange landscape my mind was showing me flashes of old Louis L'amour novels. The Lonesome Gods became a reality for me, I finally saw what the author tried to show me in those long forgotten pages.
Then it hit me that I was in California. Really in California. A place so far away that it was not a reality for me. Against all odds I had ridden a motorcycle from the damp green swamps of Louisiana all the way to this strange and wonderful place. Not only had I done it, I had brought my father with me. There he was in my mirror, a constant shadow. I had really Accomplished Something. And I had my dear friend hppants along with me too. That was a special and emotional time for me. I was so proud of Pop for being the tough old man that he is. I was overwhelmed and it is possible that I shed a tear or two inside my Shoei.
Back to reality.
I could see the road making a turn and stretching out to infinity and I just had to stop for a picture.
This picture in fact:
If you look you can see the road going toward the top left side of the picture.
Of course it took a while for me to get the bike stopped, dig the camera out, get the picture, get the camera back in... 'Pants had to turn around to see what was wrong. Then, the most horrible thing happened. A whole crew of Harleys and Indians rumbled past. Over a dozen of them, a vast rolling road block that was sure to slow us down to a crawl and be virtually impossible to pass. I stared in amazement, then in horror. My friend hppants saw my expression (I am NOT a poker player!) and wondered what was wrong. I was too pissed with myself to answer him. I just waved him on. There was a small glimmer of hope when I saw that the last thing in line was a van with a Harley on a trailer. It also occurred to me that there were no loud pipes, only the deep factory rumble of the American V-Twins.
Wonder of wonders, it was a European tour group. They stayed plenty fast on the roller coaster roads of that desert area. We all stopped for a break at Kelso Depot. This was an oasis in the desert and had some interesting history. The museum was closed.
The Tour Group. There were 14 of them. They each paid $800 a day for two weeks to tour the American West.
I can just picture Pop's expression when I try to explain why he owes me a little more than expected for this trip. What's $11,200 when you're family? I may cut him a "family discount" and make it an even $10K.
We started north to join up with I-15 at Baker CA. Just as we were leaving a well dressed lady in a white Mercedes pulled up and started asking Pop for directions. hppants was already rolling, I was impatient... Turns out she was trying to tell Pop that I-15 was a 50 mile traffic jam and we needed to head south for I-40 instead. So we rode 30 miles North and immediately rode that same 30 miles back. We made a 60+ round trip to Baker CA to see an epic traffic jam.
We headed back south, me feeling stupid for not being more patient with Pop and his lady friend. It started getting warm.
It was somewhere at this point that I had to explain to my friend hppants why I was so pissed off when I stopped to take that picture. I knew that my slow, stupid camera work had caused us to get stuck behind all those slow bikes. 'pants was of course happy to know that I was not upset with him. He went to his bike and presented me with a neck tether. He showed me how to attach my camera to this and taught me how to take pics on the run. Of course it was FJR red and had ULL Ragin Cajun all over it but I was thrilled.
I did my best to take decent pics later to pay him back for that wonderful gift.
We tried to get on Rte 66 but that section was closed so we jumped on I-40. It wasn't that bad, it was pretty scenic. We got off and rejoined Rte. 66 and it was awful. The pavement was terrible. Worse than terrible. We got back on the interstate. It was 102 degrees.
We pulled off for gas and I had not one but two pumps that refused to cooperate. My temper was getting short, we finally got gas and then the HD and Indian mounted tour group exited the interstate and took Rte. 66 right in front of us. Hppants and I both wondered what the tour guide knew that we did not. We were both on the same page but neither one of us wanted to say anything. Fortunately hppants did voice he thought, we did communicate and by mutual consent we took Rte. 66 from there all the way to Barstow.
From Barstow we took Hwy 58 then 395 north to Ridgecrest. We found a mediocre chain motel in Ridgecrest and found a decent supper at Casey's. Our waitress Rachell was quite lovely but was apparently immune to my charms. The fact that we were right in front of the gate for the China Lake Naval Air Station probably meant that she got a lot of attention. She was a good waitress though.
At our hotel there was a gathering of Combat Veterans riding their motorcycles to San Diego for a meeting of some kind. The first one there was on a Triumph Rocket III Touring and had done a SS1K to get there. We would see him again much later in this trip.
We shared a couple beers and called it a night in boring Ridgecrest CA.