Of course I took a moto ride yesterday. I may do it again today. I freaking love this weather even though the allergies are kickin in extra hard. The outside of my helmet is splattered with the snotty substance of bug guts and the inside of my helmet is splattered with the snotty substance of sneeze guts. Yummy. Regardless, this post isn’t really about my ride yesterday (it was standard, twisties, beach, redwoods, etc.) it was a part of the ride that spawned a nostalgic flashback. Cue dream blurring to vignetted image of my little, black Tacoma racing across the Nevada desert late at night, stars sprayed across the sky, REM playing “It’s the End of the World” through my new Alpine stereo, Dave Dworak and I hyped on Mt. Dew and Snickers bars.
During my ride yesterday I was stopped on Skyline just shy of its intersection with 84. I guess they were clearing slide debris off the road, but I didn’t know that when I was stopped. I was sitting there for a good 10 minutes, to the point where I put the kickstand down and a line of cars started to build behind me as we waited. This sitting there sparked the memory of Dave and I headed to Burning Man because somewhere out in the middle of that desert we were similarly stopped. But we were stopped for a good hour. It was a fatal accident that stopped us though and it was weird, how that event turned into a small party.
I can’t remember now, but I even think it was a motorcycle rider who was killed. I’ll have to get Dave to read this post and do some fact checking. His memory was notoriously, crazy good. We were stopped so long that people were out of their cars, walking up and down the line chatting, checking the progress on what was happening ahead and relaying the information to each other. We were all waiting for the coroner to arrive, but it was a beautiful, warmish night. The stars were trying to tear through the sky with their stabs of light and Dave and I were eventually sitting in the bed of the truck chatting with people and staring at the constellations and the Milky Way. It was one of those neat moments where you’re talking with strangers all stuck in a situation enjoying each other’s company in a beautiful place, the flat, dark desert, the silhouettes of rock formations moving around in the distance, the low chatter of conversations happening a few cars down the line.
Eventually we were able to get moving again and the gravity of the situation kind of made me feel guilty for enjoying the little detour when we drove past the actual accident scene, the body peeking out from beneath a yellow tarp every time a car passed with its stir of air. Then again, maybe this person would be happy that they sparked a small party in the desert.
Yesterday a big, boxy, yellow, tool-carrying type truck rumbled up the road with a line of cars behind it from the opposite direction to snap me out of it. The truck turned around as the cars (and a few bikes) passed and it became clear that I was to follow this truck as if it were a pace car. i was guided through a maze of rubble, trucks, back-hoes, etc at about 10 miles per hour the rest of the way to Alice’s. It wasn’t a long enough stop to start chatting with everyone stopped behind me, but long enough for me to remember that trip to Burning Man.
Here are some photos from Burning Man and a couple shots of the moto I took yesterday.
Dave perched on the Thunder Dome
The Thunder Dome
Mad Max Biker Chick