Rained In Interlude

The sound of thunder this morning didn't exactly wake me up as much as tell me to go back to bed. Today would be my first day off of the road due to unmitigated circumstances. Though I am no stranger to rain riding, coming from the state that has a dry riding season of about 2 or 3 months, I didn't want to deal with being struck by lightning in flat, open country. Over 1500 miles of sun so far is, in my opinion, a good run.

As you might have guessed, I haven't turned in the direction of home just yet. Bonneville was behind us now but the end of one journey is the beginning of another, as they say. Now in deep into the American southwest, an entire frontier of natural wonders lay before the dynamic duo. To have come this far and not explore it would be no way to go about this story! Speaking of which, though not much has happened, I must get you up to date.

Even as I washed the salt from the bike's undercarriage, I still had a smirk on my face that pinned itself there since earlier that day. It was as if Chance and I just saved the world from total oblivion and no one would ever know.

No, I didn't do anything as brash as breaking any personal speed records. Not because I didn't want to, but because we couldn't! Though relatively dry, the salt layer was still saturated just inches below, so for the flattest stretch of land in the whole world where sound barriers are blasted through annually, the conditions were just not perfect for my visit. Just as well, however, as Chance and I had the entire place to ourselves. We spent hours and almost half a tank waltzing around out there. Frequently losing my bag of supplies, orientation and looming storm clouds finally cued me to wrap it up. Perhaps we'll come back for the official Speed Week someday and really see what we're made of!

When I rolled into the Knight's Inn after giving the two-wheeler a bath, a fellow outside his room asked me a question I have yet to get sick of hearing: "What year is your bike?". It was always a pleasure to answer and a great way to knock off the bad boy facade that I've been sporting in these rougher territories. She sure was an effective ice breaker. In my couple days based in Wendover, I'd hold entertainingly lengthy conversations with the old hotel manager, a tenant who looked like the bald guitarist from Tenacios D, a father and son on a cross-country road trip, a barista at the coffee shop I spent most of my time writing at, and a retired Delta Airlines pilot and his friends, a pair of retired motorcycle cops.

The last couple I met on my way out of town yesterday, just as I stopped to admire the flats one more time. They were among the nicest people I had met so far. It didn't bother me to burn some daylight chatting with them for they continually took words right out of my mouth. They seemed to understand the rhyme and reason for my trek better than I did! We shared stories as if we were old chums. I took a lot of wisdom in from them and used their encouragement and even jealousy to bolster my cause which was beginning to take form.

I missed their company before I even saddled up again. The road east to Salt Lake City was long and gave me plenty of time to think about things. After two weeks on the road, I was starting to crave some socialization but not with just anyone. As fantastic my solitude has been for my personal reflection, it was starting to become apparent that I was only getting half the potentially life-changing effects that my journey could provide me. To quote a tag line from The Motorcycle Diaries, "Let the world change you and you can change the world.". Well, the world isn't just made up of mountains and rivers but inhabitants too and I think I have much to learn from the unwritten stories of people along the way.

I can only go so long being around people before being socially burned out. But now I'm straddling the means that will permit me just the right dosage of contact before being on my way again. More on that later.

For now there was a giant lake to my left that demanded a swim! A couple hours of riding landed us in Salt Lake City, Utah! It was so bizarre to see planes flying in and out and not to mention the skyscrapers blocking the view at times. It was the first major city I set the kickstand down on since I left San Francisco. I felt especially like Tarzan visiting the city for the first time when I parked downtown next to some of the most awesome edifices and well-mannered citizens.

By the cleanlines of the streets, smiles on all the faces, and pressed Sunday suits and dresses about despite it being Thursday, it was official: I was in Mormon town. Although I looked like someone who just walked out of the desert (half true) with my unkept hair, stained boots, and dead and/or dying insects plastered all over my front side, I thought walking around with my journal at my side would help me fit in since the Book of Mormon seemed to be the trending accessory in these parts.

I gotta say, the place was like Disneyland for Jesus-fans, so naturally, I was enjoying myself.

Replace the ass with a motorcycle and that painting would be in my mancave.

I'm sure readers, friends and family alike have pondered at my admiration of certain historical figures like Jesus Christ. It all boils down to a story. I'm fascinated by people who lead lives that never die because they had a story. From Howard Hughes to the most recent Barefoot Bandit, it never really matters to me who they were but rather what they did in their time on earth and what their story did after their time had passed. I'm always trying to be conscious of my own story by being inspired by such individuals.

Sometimes I come across a collection of individuals that get a tip of my hat. From my experience, the Mormons I've met were as wholesome as apple pie. I used to tell people that I'd probably end up marrying a Mormon girl. Though some practices still make me scratch my head it's only because I haven't taken the time to get in their shoes and see why it makes sense to them. Whatever they're doing, it works not only within their community but in interacting with others who see differently as well. Not too many religions keep an open mind about other beliefs, so bravo. Albeit, at times, even I, a self-admitted choir boy, find them to be too goody-two-shoes every now and again. Go steal a candy bar or something!

Like I mentioned before, I'm not deeply religious. I like to think of my moral compass as something along the lines of a scene in a western. Imagine a drifter saving a whore from being cheated by a patron, keeping the money for myself to spend at the bar then curtly telling the girl to get a new line of work. At least that's what romanticized notion of good and bad plays out in my mind.

With the Great Salt Lake in their backyard calling me, I didn't stay as long as I liked so the Mormon key to all of life's questions must wait indefinitely or at least until after a dip.

I couldn't wait to get out of the city again. I heard from one of the many people I met who were excited to share their state with me that there was a lovely beach around Antelope Island. The narrow road forging through one of the largest lakes in the entire world was a wonderful prelude to the beauty awaiting me on this humongous island.

Those two dots I'm the middle are buffalo! I've never seen buffalo before! I thought they were hunted to extinction. This truly was the wild west.

The beach wasn't far in and since the day was nearly over, I had to pass on exploring the rest of the island for a long-awaited submersion in natural water.

Buffalo tracks!

Marching out to the shoreline, I checked it out first. It seemed rather shallow for yards. It even smelled salty from the shore. But once I stuck my hand under the surface, the warmth sold me. Back at my bike, I got changed and chatted with a family who said they spoke with someone's earlier who said you literally had to hike out a ways before the water got deep enough. Curious, I asked if it was low tide at the moment and the father laughed, "Wow, you really are from Washington! What tide?" I was dumbfounded for a good long time before I joined in the laughter realizing that I wasn't on the coast anymore. Apparently it was due to drought that the lake is lower than usual. Nevertheless, I didn't come all this way not to get wet! This was all that remained of the ancient Lake Bonneville which all the features of the landscape I had seen so far in the entire Great Basin area were shaped from. So back into the primordial soup I go!

Suddenly, I became the center of attention for the tourists still standing on the shore, surely growing discontent with staying there as they watched me plow forward. It took a long time and countless awkward steps on slippery stones but before long, a rush of cooler water wrapped around me up to my stomach and I knew it was time to test the waters...

It was true! The salinity was so high you couldn't help but float! I laughed so genuinely and really for no reason. I was just so full of joy as if I were baptized. After some splashing around in unwarranted celebration, I relaxed and floated around a while. It brought me to another early memory of when my mother once found me asleep floating in a pool on my back even a while after it closed. Water must be a natural cradle.

It was a good day. I felt rejouvinated already, proudly giving salutations to some of my audience on the way back to my things. The normal road tunes just didn't quite seem to fit so I put on something different to play me off the island.

 

Now that we're caught up, I think I'll use the rest of this stormy day in to do some laundry, long overdue postcards to the miss, and perhaps even treat myself to a stroll down to the local movie theater for a good story.