From: edh@wheeler.unr.edu (Ed Hackett)
Newsgroups: rec.motorcycles
Subject: Debauchary on (the) Desert
Date: 26 Jan 93 20:16:23 GMT
Organization: Desert Research Institute, University of Nevada

The WMTC Rides Again

It was a dark and stormy night.  Better make that:  It was a dark
and _VERY_ stormy night.  Winds over the Sierras were gusting up to
176 mph, trees were falling, and the rain was coming down by the
buckets.  This was all happening on the eve of our annual January
ride to the southern part of the state, Beatty and Death Valley.
It was looking like plan B was about to be put into action, load
the Camel in the back of the truck and head out.  At least plan B
would allow me to ride some of the dirt roads in DV.

Friday morning dawned clear and warm, and much to my surprise, the
driveway and roads were dry.  I guess the Gods know better than to
mess with a bunch of bikers with severe cases of cabin fever.  I
loaded the K-whiner, checked the tire pressures, and wondered if it
would start.  I hadn't ridden it in months, as the Camel was the
new bike and had seen all the action in the past few months.  It
turned its' standard three times an fired up to its' smooth,
gear whining idle.  It was as anxious to get on the road as I was.

I waited until noon so that any ice on the road would have a chance
to melt.  The temperature was in the low 40's, so the heated grips
and electric vest (yes, the paisley one) made the ride quite
comfortable.  I wanted to get off the high desert and into the
lower part of the state before dark, so I set a rather rapid pace.
At about 165 miles I decided to gas up.  The winds and speed would
make stretching the tank to my normal 230 mile stop a bit too close
for comfort.  I began to climb into Tonopah, and the temperatures
over the 6255 foot summit reminded me that this was indeed January.
Once over the summit it was a 30 mile blast into Goldfield and then
the decent to Sarcobatus Flat and the warmer southern desert.
There's Lida Junction and the Cottontail Ranch.  Hmmm... I wonder
if Angel is still there.  No time to stop and say hello, besides,
I'm sure she has made her money and is working on her degree at
UCLA as planned.  I roll into the parking lot of the motel in
Beatty 4 hours and 15 minutes after leaving Reno, which is 332 miles
back up the road.  Some of you may have figgured out that I may
have bent the speed limit once or twice.  For the record: I do not
speed, I merely travel at a pace that would indicate that I intend
to get someplace.

Friday night was spent in the in the bar shooting the shit with
other riders that had come in that evening, and drinking way too
much tequila.  I did manage to beat the odds on the poker machines
at the bar.  My fifty cents grew to $12.50 before I cashed out.

Saturday morning brought a late, leisurely breakfast followed by
plans to head on down to Furnace Creek for a dip in the pool.  We
decided to stop in Rhyolite, a ghost town just outside Beatty, for
a look around.  We spent an hour or so looking at all the old
buildings and train station.  We ran into an old-timer that was a
wealth of information about the mining history of the area.  We
spent the next three hours sitting on an old bench in the sun
listening to stories of the past.  We never did make it to the
pool, and decided to head back into town.  Most of the other
riders had trickled in by now, so it was time to greet old friends
and have another beer.

Dinner was at 6:30, and after a great dinner of Filet Mignon, a
dirty joke contest was held during dessert of hot fudge sundaes.
Of course the joke here was if you wanted your fudge packed or
unpacked.  Dessert was followed by drawings for door prizes, which
included a Liberty radar detector, Shoei RF200 helmet, a pair of
Corbin boots, an electric vest, and a Wigggy's sleeping bag.  The
final tally was 37 riders on 36 bikes (32 BMWs and 4 others).  People
had come from Reno, Las Vegas, Santa Barbara, The Bay Area, Quincy,
and Pacific City, Oregon.

 Dinner was followed by more drinking, bull shitting, gambling, and
 the trip out to Fran's Star Ranch, where one of our famous WMTC
 raffles was held.  Everyone who wishes to participate tosses $20
 in the pot and names are drawn.  This year there were 10 entrants,
 so 2 lucky guys (names withheld to protect the not so innocent)
 recieved $100 to spend on the pleasure of their choice.  By mere
 chance I happend to run into someone I met on last year's trip
 at Sheri's.  It made it very difficult to keep my wallet and
 other things in my pants, but higher brain function prevailed, and
 my only rememberance of the trip will be a Fran's Ranch T-shirt.
 Hmmmm... I wonder if BMWMOA will print a picture of a bunch of BMW
 riders doing donuts in the parking lot of a whorehouse?  I think
 not.  

 Sunday morning found a group of tired, hung-over, happy riders
 eating a late breakfast and preparing for the trip home.  Small
 groups were heading out, and I wanted to be on the road by 10:30
 to be home by sunset.  I hooked up with John and Jean on their
 R100R and we soon settled into a comfortable 85 mph cruise back to
 the north.  We played cat and mouse with a Mineral County Sheriff
 for about 50 miles, and try as he might, he never could catch us
 with our gaurd down.  I pulled into the driveway just before 5:00
 p.m. with my drivers license, bank account, and virgini...(never
 mind), in tact.  I had survived another Wild Man Touring Company
 ride.

 Ed Hackett   edh@wheeler.wrc.unr.edu     The Desert Research Institute 
 DoD #0200  WMTC  BMWRA  DIOC             Reno, Nevada   (702) 673-7380   
 KotLS  KotLE  DotD #0003      Motorcycling is not a life and death matter.
 900SS  K100RS  501 CAMEL      It's more important than that.    __=o&o>__