Owwwwwww... Morning hurts when one has a hang-over and itís almost 100 degrees by 9:30 a.m. Mrumph-frumphple, letís ride. Arghlemfle.
Eastward, ho! At least after Ken shows me how to check the oil on my bike and I buy a quart to top off. Weíre in such poor shape we take the WRONG highway out of town for ten miles before realizing, even with his GPS. Donít worry, weíre professionals, we know exactly what weíre doing...
More of this:
In such arid conditions we all need to do our part to protect and hydrate the native plant species:
Well! how do you really feel?!?
At a gas stop a cashier-man has his ďspecialĒ child with him behind the counter who wants to know whatís in my pack. I tell him Iíll show them what it is, but that they would have to trade me something since Iím a professional (I did this in a charming way, not being a jerk). He says I can take my pick of an ice-cream bar (but felt it necessary to tell me I would
have to pay for my gas!) , so I whip out the Black Death right there in the convenience store and proceeded to play Bach and Schubert, two of my stand-byís. The boy is naturally thrilled, and everyone else seems puzzled and/or amazed. A strange performance situation to be sure, but thatís part of this whole experiment: becoming comfortable playing in less than ideal environments and situations at a moments notice. Itís surprisingly difficult, and riding a motorcycle for hundreds of miles with a hang-over doesnít put me in the best possible physical state to perform well, but again, thatís part of the challenge!
As we leave Ken says, ďWell, hey! You got some free ice-cream out of the deal!Ē To which I reply, ďNo, I worked for it! Thereís a difference...Ē A lifetime of learning to play an instrument for a $1.50 ice-cream isnít exactly a living. I wish more people understood that.
Ken had been complaining about a front-wheel wobble problem since yesterday, and he kept trying to talk me into selling my Scorpion tires to him. ďAre you really gonna carry those all the way back to Texas? Really
He was subtle (not!), but he finally wore me down when we reached our split up point at this Yamaha/KTM dealer which didnít carry tire sizes for the 950 Adventure. Okay, fine... I know that when I get back to Texas Iíll most likely end up buying a set of these exact tires for double the price, but oh well! It will be nice to not be schlepping them for the next few weeks, and thereís a friend in need. Moto-Karma!
I left DaddyBigDaddy at the shop with his bike on the lift getting my barely used shoes put on and turned north to go up the west side of the Utah Lake (Provo Lake?), a route Iíve never taken before. Ken invited me to ride with him to Colorado for some trails, which was very, very tempting, but Logan calls. Iím sure I could learn a lot from riding with him and his friends, perhaps we can meet up again.
Riding behind the lake:
I hate riding I-25 through Salt Lake City, but thereís really no other way through that corridor that doesnít add hours I donít have for today, so slab it up, baby!
Finally I arrive in Logan with my now-infamous dramatic entrance: Arriving at the backstage door during the intermission of a UFOC opera production when all of my musician friends are outside dressed in pit black. Everyone is so happy to see me roll up and my heart swells up in my chest as I see many of my closest friends from across the country all gathered together for this amazing festival of music. Iím so proud of my new bike and of the crazy events of the last few days from the BMW breaking down to buying my dream bike for a fly-ín-buy, camping, partying, riding... Iím looking forward to a good nights sleep and some R&R for a while in here in the north-east corner of Utah.
MUCH more to come!