
At the crack of dawn on day three of the trip I awoke to the sounds of what seemed like buzzards or vulchers walking around my tent. A little dazed, as I normally am in the morning, I couldn’t have told you where I even was. I remembered I was still in Nevada tho. The sun was peaking over the mountains, my camp site was repacked onto the shadow and I was back on the road by 6:30am.

It turns out I was just south of Ely on Rt. 93/Rt. 50. About an hour from Great Basin National Park. From here I started the cold climb into the Humboldt National Forest and over the mountains. As I was riding I noticed a sign that said elevation 7100 feet. I looked down and I was doing 70mph, at 7am in the morning. Then that’s when I realized the date was 7-7. You think of all sorts of stuff when you riding for hours.

My first stop of the day was in Baker, NV.

Baker is a little town just off Rt. 50 a few miles before you cross into Utah. It is also the entrance to Great Basin National Park. I stopped for gas and was floored by the lack of station that came with this gas stop. It was just two pumps and a few vending machines. Thats it. The feeling of being in the middle of nowhereland set in even heavier.

Then I entered the zone of polygamist Mormons. Scared. This first stretch of road is just as it looks, flat and barren. I couldn’t help it, I literally said out loud, “where to hell am I right now?”

After about three hours of riding I made it to the Rancher Motel & Cafe in Delta, UT. An old man at the counter was bitching about cigarettes.
“Outragous! $6.66 a pack! I remember when they were .25 cents a pack!”
Not to judge, but he also didn’t have any teeth. I was surprised the man didn’t blame the devil for the cost of his smokes. Then I looked to my right and the booth next to me was all cops. They kept looking at me like I was a fugitive they’d been on the hunt for. I finished my two egg special and got the hell out of there. Breakfast was a success, but I was itching to get back on the road.

After I left Delta, rolled through Salina and found my way to I-70 east toward Moab, this is where shit got a little hairball. The sky turned black on me, then downpoured.

I made it through the first shit storm and punched in to stay ahead of the rain. I thougth of Scott H Biram and put that hammer down in that hammer lane trucker style.

I cranked it to 80 and flew down I-70 doing everything to say ahead of the rain. But nature still calls. This was a piss stop in central Utah.

I felt like I was far enough ahead of the storm that I pulled over when I saw there was a senic overlook. But… I’ve been here before? I cant remember on what trip but I know I’ve been to this highway exit before…

Utah looks like Mars on Earth.

Then it hit me again. A rain drop to the face I mean. I was being followed. The rain had made it back up to me as well as the sky was getting darker to the north and to the south. Mother nature was closing in on me…

After the over look I jumped onto the road and did some quick math. If I stayed on the road and kept my speed around 70ish, I would make it to Boulder before midnight. OR… I could stop in Moab (as originally intended) and camp in the rain with possible thunder storms. I opted for the road. I made the decision and gunned it. Scott Biram was still playing in my head. No photos of Moab because when I made it there I was doing well over 80 to try to get infront of a storm that was right on my ass. I made it into Colorado (also no photo), passed Grand Junction and soured into the mountains. It seemed like it was clear sailing with friendly sky ahead and black clouds behind me. I was wrong…
I made it to a small town in the mountains called New Castle and it hit me. It poured. I waited it out and got back on the soaking wet highway still thinking I would make it to Boulder just after dark. The thing I didnt bring into consideration was altitude. I made it to Vail (around 10,000 feet above sea level) at about 930pm. I was pitch black out and I was wet and freezing. It sucked. I pulled over for coffee and half considered asking the gas station if I could crash there for the night. Then I found out I was only 1 hour from Boulder and a warm couch to crash on that also came with a hot shower… “fuck it, I can make it.”

After 1323 miles in 2.5 days, I made it to Goodman’s place around 11pm Mountain time. I had been riding his bike for the last 17 hours that day. I could no longer feel my ass or half of my legs. Regardless, I was so hyped to be there. This here is Roxie sitting on what would be my bed for the next 4 days.
Scott Rattler sent me a text that just said:
“Gordon VS the Road. Gordon One. The road Zero.”
Thanks dude. That was amazing…
To be continued…